#i can only presume they are then immediately fired

[captorations]

college dining hall pizza is a long-running experiment to synthesize the least edible combination of bread, cheese, and ambiguous red sauce

[numinous-scribe]

Siblings by trial and choice

So @noir-renard posted a prompt in Haunting Heroes a little while ago that's had me in a perpetual choke hold ever since.

When the Portal ZAPS Danny, he doesn't just get turned into a half ghost; he gets catapulted halfway across the galaxy. So now he's stuck on an alien ship, trying to deal with new powers, and desperately searching for a way home.

And my immediate thought was "How can I make this about Starfire?", from which everything spiraled.

[Click the pictures for better quality!]

Having assumed that the portal wasn't even supposed to be functional, Danny had absolutely no basis for anything that was happening to him. Not his new look or powers, not for wherever he was, and certainly not for the predicament of where he landed-- A ship he would later come to know as belonging to the slavers known as the Gordanians.

For all Danny knew, he certainly wasn't human anymore, and he might not have even been in the same dimension either; while Earth had been seeing more and more interactions with aliens, he'd never seen any quiet like these, and his parents had said that the portal was designed to view a whole other world.

And that was terrifying! He was Danny Fenton, just fourteen, and so far out of his depth it wasn't even funny. If it weren't for Koriand'r then Danny didn't know how he would have kept it all together.

As it were, Kor'i had already been enslaved for four years by this point. She knew what it was like to suddenly be cut off from everything she'd ever known, and the torment that was awaiting this strange boy that had appeared in a flash of green light. So even though she had nothing to give, Kor'i stuck by Danny's side.

Together, for the next two years, they fed each other hope.

Naturally, returning to Earth was a big ordeal for Danny, and by proxy for Kor'i as well. Over the two years they spent enduring harsh labor and torture from both their Gordanian captors and the Psions, Danny had confided in all sorts of stories about his home world and vice versa Kor'i about Tamaran. After confirming that he hadn't been transported to another reality, and that this was his Earth, Danny had been so excited to return home and to introduce Kor'i to his friends and family.

But while Earth was still the same, home... was not.

His parents were in jail; not only for their unethical and code violating lab, but because they were so neglectful to the point that minors were able to get into the lab unsupervised and one of them— Danny —was able to access their faulty machine and, presumably, died.

Jazz got picked up by the state, but quickly managed to get herself emancipated and now lived in some other state attending college.

The Manson's moved. Sam was a wreck and not coping well at all; her parents were considering having her committed to an institution for a bit to help her last anyone had heard.

The Foley's couldn't afford to move, so Tucker had to carry on with life as well as he could. He's quiet now, not as verbose and shameless as before, more of a hermit than anything.

And since he's been presumed dead, and can't figure out how to disprove that, honestly, Danny doesn't know how to pick back up where he left off. He can't. Because everything, including him, has changed as well.

But, like she's always done since the moment they met, Kor'i was there for him. And now they have a new family in the Teen Titans as well.

Bonus:

Close ups of Phantom and Starfire. Danny's suit design is a mixture of some of his original concept art and @the-stove-is-on-fire's designs :)

[deepwoundsandfadedscars]

Sat down to have a chat with my cousin before he flies home tomorrow to his wife, just cause I was anxious that she would try to twist it against me if she talked to him first, I explained my side of what the interaction was and the blatant lies she claimed, and he's not at all surprised and in fact is already planning on getting a paralegal when he gets home to start getting her the fuck out of his life

Me last night: hmm maybe I want another tattoo, I'm going to start talking to this artist *sends message*

My cousins wife: *sends an incredibly hostile message about how I've been ignoring her and she's gone above and beyond for me trying to be supportive of me, when in reality she hasn't texted me first since November and when I text her, she's very short with me and makes no effort to continue a conversation with me*

"Yeah hi, artist? Make that three tattoos"

[fractualized]

A while ago I got under someone's skin for referencing Joker's surprising delayed reaction to killing Jason Todd, and since then I've been thinking it's worth digging into as an interesting element of Joker's characterization.

Of course, first thing's first: Jason's murder in Batman (1940) #427, as originally presented in 1988.

Jason has just reconnected with his biological mother, Sheila Haywood, at a famine relief camp in Ethiopia— and he's discovered that Joker is blackmailing her with information about her criminal past. She gets him truckloads of medical supplies to sell on the black market, and Joker restocks the trucks with toxin. While Bruce races to stop a tampered truck, Jason decides to help his mother on his own. When he discloses he's Robin, however, Sheila betrays him to Joker, not only to stay on Joker's good side but because she's actually been embezzling money from the organization she works for this whole time. She's afraid an investigation prompted by Batman and Robin's appearance would expose this fact.

So Sheila stands by as Jason is felled by Joker and his goons, and then the crowbarring starts.

It's bad! When we return later, Jason is presumably dead.

While Joker isn't shocked that he's murdered a child, he does have an unexpected reaction to Sheila's point. He hadn't really been thinking about what he was doing, implying that he hadn't intended to kill Jason. He just got carried away, whoopsie! He didn't do this to get at Batman; he wasn't thinking about Batman at all. Now, however, he's concerned about how Batman will react.

Joker thinks Jason is already dead. The purpose of the bomb is to get rid of the evidence of his involvement, including Sheila. Joker is not broken up about what he did, but he does have a sense that he's gone a step too far and he doesn't want Batman to know about it. At least for now!

In the end, while Jason wakes and he and his mother try to save each other, they're trapped in the warehouse when the bomb goes off. Bruce makes it back only in time to find a dying Sheila, who tells him it was Joker. When Bruce finds Jason, Jason gets no last words. He's already dead, and Bruce is devastated.

A clue from Joker leads Bruce to the United Nations in New York, and there, infamously, Bruce learns that Joker has been made the ambassador from Iran. Joker is now protected from prosecution, and Batman going after him risks an international incident. Bruce still very much wants to, but Superman stops him.

Well, mostly Superman. I recommend reading Batman #429 to see Bruce's full thought process on this. He is furious and constantly thinking about finally ending Joker— but he also questions his mental state. He still wonders if he can hold Joker responsible if he believes Joker is insane. He uses phrases like "what happened to Jason" like it was a natural disaster, not murder. He even confronts Joker to give him one last chance to turn himself in to Arkham Asylum. Bruce is in a kind of denial, still grabbing at how things usually go.

But back to Joker. Evidently, he's no longer worried that Batman will find out he killed Robin. Joker admits to it immediately.

I assume Joker realized there was no point in denying it. Is Batman going to think it's a coincidence that Robin got blown up when Joker was around? Though Bruce does say it's Joker's taunts that 100% confirm for him that the clown was responsible, pointing again to Bruce still grasping for reasons to not break his rule in his grief.

By the end of the issue, Joker has naturally tried to kill the entire United Nations assembly, which instantly made him free game. So Bruce pursues him to a helicopter, and an in-air scuffle ensues in which Bruce explicitly prevents Joker from being killed by friendly fire, evidently so he can decide how Joker will die. Bruce jumps out of the helicopter, abandoning Joker to a fiery crash. However, despite Bruce's (supposed) intentions, Joker's body is nowhere to be found. The clown lives!

So that's it, right? Joker felt some unease about killing Jason initially, but in a short time, he was happy to gloat about it to Batman's face.

But when Joker reappears in Batman #450, in 1990, he is not triumphant. He's holed up in a dilapidated building, where he learns someone is impersonating him.

How often do we see Joker upset by murders? When the story returns to him, we learn more about his mental state.

With all of Joker's cackling glee at the things he's done, coming close to actual death in the helicopter crash has jarred him— and not just the crash, but the murder that led to it. He recoils from the memory of what he did to Jason. It's why he can't see the joke anymore. It's set apart from his previous crimes. It's too far.

Which is not at all to say that Joker is completely broken up about Jason. By the end of #450, he rallies and sets out to go after his copycat and restore his reputation to his liking.

In Batman #451, though, Joker is still plagued by doubts along the way.

Even when he overcomes those doubts, claiming the mantle as the one and only Joker when his copycat dies by falling into acid, Joker challenges Gordon to finally kill him. It's reminiscent of The Killing Joke, the first time Joker went too far. But like TKJ, Gordon and Batman decide to get Joker back to Arkham against their more vengeful instincts.

Joker's also decided Arkham is just what he needs. Outside, he's plagued by the reality of what he's done; in Arkham, he can settle back into his insanity and stop caring about it again.

So after that, Joker has no second thoughts about killing Jason, right? After all, he largely references the murder in callous terms. In-universe this makes sense as Joker revising history in his own head, particularly as more stories portray his effort to be more monster than man. Monsters don't have qualms about murder! But this is comics, so we can also presume that not all Joker writers know or remember #450/451, which I think is a shame. I find stories in which Joker expresses even just a degree of vulnerability to be more interesting than those where he's just mwahaha evil.

I have seen a few other bat stories bring some nuance into Joker's perception of Jason's death, though.

First up is the particularly nuanced "Fool's Errand" in Detective Comics (1937) #726, published in 1998. Bruce visits Joker in Arkham to get information on how to find a kidnapped girl who's running out of time. It just so happens Joker arranged this kidnapping for a particular day.

I strongly recommend this issue for batjokes fans, as it revolves around Joker talking the case through with Batman in his cell to help him figure out more clues to a crime Joker himself planned. Even with Bruce beating Joker up, the conversational tone feels almost friendly. They're just doing their usual thing.

Well, sort of. Bruce has already said he's not in the mood, and he interrupts their conversation to say so again.

Joker could insist that Batman stay and keep playing the game, and needle him for being unwilling to merely talk to Joker to rescue this child. Instead, Joker gives up her location.

And Bruce does come back as predicted.

So that was Joker's nefarious plan. He wanted to restore some hope to Bruce's cynical soul to be sure that his future failures would hurt even more. But it sure seems the middle didn't go the way Joker expected, when he recognized Batman just wasn't going to play the game as usual.

Joker doesn't jump into taunting. He doesn't answer Bruce at first. He's withdrawn and reflective. He's got something else on his mind on this anniversary of the second Robin's death, and he knows that Bruce does, too. Perhaps not forcing Batman to play was a small gesture, acknowledging the difficulty of the day, remembering how things changed. And what does that gesture cost Joker when he still gets the outcome he wants?

Second example is actually also called "Fool's Errand," this one from Robin (1993) #85, published in 2001. This is a fun one in which Joker discusses his interactions and frustrations with the Robins.

But while Joker indicates more than once that he wants to fight Batsy alone, after he talks about killing Jason, this is the next page:

Joker does not then say he was relieved when another Robin showed up, but still. He's acknowledged again that when he murdered Jason, things were not right. As angry as the birdies make him, they're a key component in the game.

Then we come back to "Once More, With Feeling!" in Harley Quinn (2000) #25, from 2002. Harley's been playing double-agent against Batman with Joker, and she and Joker have this exchange.

Joker typically makes light of murdering Robin, but it seems that when he's with just about his only confidante, he lets other feelings about it burst out.

There's also a flashback to DitF in Batman: Gotham Knights #44 in 2003. We get an exchange between Bruce and Joker before Bruce jumps out of the helicopter.

Joker laughs as the helicopter dives, ready to die, but before that, he seems resigned. He doesn't throw in a real dig about murdering Jason, and he doesn't gloat that he's finally gotten Batman to kill him. He acknowledges he crossed a line.

Lastly, there's a 2006 exchange between, well, Joker and Jason himself in "All They Do is Watch Us Kill, Part 2" as part of Under the Red Hood in Batman (1940) #649. Jason has kidnapped Joker as batbait, and when Joker needles him, Jason needles him back.

Joker regularly extolls his own crimes, but suddenly one of his victims mockingly accuses him of putting up a front, of not being as coldhearted and untouchable as he wants to seem. Maybe Joker does doubt what he's doing and retreats under the cover of madness so he doesn't have to think about it— just as he did in Batman #451.

I'm not sure if there are other examples of Joker expressing anything but mocking glee about Jason's death. I do know of times he's shown a sort of fondness for Jason (such as in The Man Who Stopped Laughing #4, Gotham War: Red Hood #2, Suicide Squad: Get Joker #3), but that's not really the same thing. Joker could've seen Red Hood as his and Batman's Frankenstein child without feeling any squeamishness about killing him in the first place.

But if anyone knows of any other moments where Joker does not act like killing Jason is absolutely his most favorite thing he ever did, do share!

[nariism]

*ੈ✩ LAST WORDS OF A SHOOTING STAR

pair. itadori yuji x reader

synopsis. in the 3 days following the shibuya incident, itadori yuji emerges as a husk of his former self. with his immediate execution resumed, you both grapple with the feelings you have for each other and come to terms with his impending death.

content. hurt/comfort (lots of comfort, thank art because i was gonna be mean about this and they convinced me not to), slightly canon divergent (taking place between shibuya and the culling games), fluff and minor angst, yuta is the best wingman

wc. ~4.4k

NOVEMBER 1 2018

You imagine that your face was rather ghastly when you received the news.

"Execution?" You repeated, the word tasting bitter on your tongue. No, that was the wrong description. It tasted of death—like iron and the depths of Hell filling your mouth until you were gurgling on it.

Unlike the rest of the Jujutsu Sorcerers from Tokyo, you had been ordered to stay back with Shoko in case of an emergency. You remember your exile from battle had left a similar rotten flavour in your mouth.

You vanished off the face of the earth after the incident was over. Most probably presumed you died in the aftermath. Devoured by a curse, they would say and shake their heads. You were always troublesome. And then they would move on with the rest of the world, all the same.

Lives were only temporary in the world of curses. Focus on who you can save, not who is already gone. They'll only end up a curse in your sleep. What a horrible notion to have.

The truth is that you'd been whisked away with Yuta, who seemed to be scheming a plan of his own. Perhaps as a middle finger to the higher ups he hated so much, or perhaps just for his own selfish reasons. You wouldn't know until he was finished carrying it through—he's too good at keeping secrets.

He wanted your reverse cursed technique, you knew that much for sure, even though he could do it himself. You were useful by his side, fitting into his plot in a way you could not in Shibuya. Feeling some sort of obligation and satisfaction, you followed him like a lost puppy.

And now here you are, seated by a dimming fire in the abandoned part of the city. Yuta was too clever for his own good. You suppose Gojo taught him some things well. This was their plan after all.

Yuji was safe, if only for this moment in time.

"Now with Gojo gone, it would have been easy for the higher ups to send assassins your way."

Ruthless and truthful, you flinch, but Yuji does not. He remains perfectly still in your hold, with your hands rotating his face around to get a better look at his wounds. You pour your cursed energy into him, hoping to breathe life back into his eyes, but they stay dull and empty.

"We'll find a way to stop this," you assure, reaching over to take a sanitizing wipe to clean an open cut. Yuta was too rough on him, but it was at least believable that Yuji was dead. He doesn't even recoil from the alcohol stinging his flesh, too engrossed in his own thoughts.

"Why?" He asks weakly. You gawk at him, but then it melts away into a softness that finally makes him blink up at you. "I'm evil."

"You're not evil, Yuji."

"I am. I killed those people. I did." His voice comes flat and defeated, nothing like the one you used to listen to over dinner while he reenacted shitty western films.

You never realize what you'll miss until it's gone. It's hollow, the ache in your heart.

"You don't understand. How could you? All this blood on my hands—"

"It was Sukuna," you quickly refute.

"And Sukuna only lives because I do!"

His voice raises at you, causing the flames behind you to flicker and crack. It's enough for Yuta to step in, acting as a barrier between your tense bodies. Yuji seems to shrink at this, realizing his emotions have run amok and that he has yelled at you.

You only stare back at him in bewilderment, like a frightened animal. Your upperclassman shakes his head.

"Enough of this. We need to start making plans."

You lay awake that night, alone and anxious. Yuta has taken the first shift of watching and patrolling while the two of you rest, though hesitant to leave you alone. He told you it’s another reason he dragged you along: having three people to rotate shifts instead of just two would be easier on your bodies and minds. The city is not what it used to be, now overrun with curses of all grades.

You reassured him it would be fine, that you would fall asleep quickly and so would Yuji—his body has to run out of steam eventually, right? Oh, what a fool you were.

The tension is so heavy that it's awkward, even though you're sleeping on opposite ends of the tunnel.

"Sleep," you demand as if you were Inumaki, like you have the power to curse him.

His eyes flutter open. Even in the firelight, you don't see any shine in them, seeming as if they had been extinguished of life. "Why don't you?"

"I can't until you do."

"That's stupid," he tells you.

It's not the first time you've argued like this. Back when the world felt right, you would sneak in through his dorm window well into the hours of the night. Platonic, you had convinced yourself. You snuck into his bed seeking companionship as a friend. That's the lie you gorged on.

A piece of you knew, and you're sure he did too, that the way your hands explored his arms was unnatural for two friends, and that friends wouldn't sneak into each other's rooms like this with such severe punishment on the line.

It was safe in his arms, with the dull hum of his television running an old horror film in the background. You didn't have to think about much other than his warmth when you sat between his legs with your back to his chest. Or when his arm was draped over your shoulder and you were pressed into his side—actually, you think you preferred this one though you felt sorry for his sore arm.

You would bicker about dumb, pointless things. Which movie is better, or which character deserved to be mutilated more. It would go on for so long that Megumi would bang his fist on their shared wall to get the two of you to shut up.

There was no curse strong enough to change time itself, so you keep your thoughts and memories to yourself when you respond.

"You'll be too tired to function on your shift," you reason.

"You both will be fine without me." Better off without me, you know he means. You've gotten good at reading between his lines.

You slowly sit up in your sleeping bag, eyes never leaving Yuji. He seems so frail right now, even though he looks more adult than he ever has before.

"Human Earthworm 4 was better than 2," you suddenly say. His eyes peer open again in confusion.

"Huh? 2 was way better."

"I liked the love story in 4," you argue, slowly getting out of your bag to shuffle to his side of the concrete tunnel. He looks at you as if you've said something outlandish, too preoccupied with his thoughts to wonder why you've come so close.

"2 had the best special effects though."

Your body shifts under his blanket.

"But 4 had a happier ending." (As far as 'happy' goes in the Human Earthworm series, at least.)

His arm falls around your waist as it has a hundred times, pulling you into his chest.

"Whatever," he huffs. The next topic comes fast and you're thrown into a full blown conversation with him. If you concentrate enough, you can imagine your bodies being tangled together in his bed, safe and sound.

Concrete and fire and the stench of curses melt away until he's all you can focus on.

"You have weird taste in movies," he concludes with his eyes drifting shut.

NOVEMBER 2 2018

You think you know how to fix broken people until you find that they are more than skin and bones. 

You learn one thing after the Shibuya Incident: there are wounds residing within Yuji just as much as there are marking his flesh.

Yuta, you realize, had left the two of you alone to sleep and has protected you all night. You'll make it up to him, you reason. Yuji deserved to sleep.

When you wake up to his sleeping face, you think his cuts are healing nicely. But then his expression twists up in terror—a nightmare, if he even had enough energy left in him to conjure up dreams. He murmurs in his sleep, shakes his head a few times and thrashes around so much you're surprised you slept through the night by his side.

"Sukuna," he's whispering. Sukuna, Sukuna, Sukuna. King of Curses. The second voice tormenting him that lives in his own brain like a parasite. You bury yourself into his chest and hold him as tight as you can. He relaxes, body releasing its rigid form, but the murmurs continue.

He is shattered beyond repair. No amount of cursed energy could fix that, even if you tried.

You had once watched Yuji electrocute himself trying to set up the janky old television in his dorm room.

He fell back onto the floor with a loud crash, head hitting the wood so hard you thought he might have a concussion. It caused such a racket that Megumi came running into the room asking what happened, demon dog ready behind him in case of an ambush.

You rushed to the floor, discarding all the food you had settled in your lap and crumbled beside him to scoop him into your arms.

"Yuji!" You called him. People rarely used his first name. You felt special, like you knew him better than others did and for some reason that was a privilege. "Are you okay?"

He laughed in your arms, seeming unfazed by the fact that electricity had run through every vein in his body. "I'm fine, see? My finger just slipped."

You and Megumi both sighed in relief, though you always thought it was strange when you reflected on it. Yuji was a funny guy, yes. He was equal parts humour and destruction but not a klutz. Mistakes happen, so you let it slide until now, but some part of you was nagging to ask.

"That day," you start while rolling up your sleeping bag. "You electrocuted yourself. Remember?"

He looks at you funny over his shoulder. Yuta has already started cracking open cans of food for breakfast, embers of your dead fire cracking.

"Hmm, yeah. I remember. Why?"

"I just thought..." you trail off. "Well, Sukuna makes you tough to a lot of things. I'm surprised small electric shocks aren't one of them."

Sukuna. A name you'd been avoiding since this morning. Sickening silence settles between you. It's so heavy that you pause in your cleaning to look at him, brow raised.

"Yeah," he coughs. "Well, maybe I exaggerated."

"Huh?" You sound annoyed now. "You scared us half to death!"

Yuji only falters in his own chores. When he looks at you again, there's a longing in his gaze that you don't know how you could have missed. Or perhaps it was never there until now.

"It was nice to have you fawning over me," he admits.

The day goes on and all you feel is a terrible grief.

You become painfully aware of each millimeter the sun glides across the sky, from one horizon to the other. Time slips through your fingers fast as sand.

Horrifically, you can't find anything to talk about to fill the emptiness—Nobara and Megumi feel off the table considering the extent of their injuries. You don't even dare to breathe Gojo's name, let alone speak of him so boldly as Yuta is.

You're afraid that Yuji will spiral again, confused and unwilling to cooperate with his judgement clouded by loss. It's not your fault, you would say. It is, he would argue. It would do neither of you good, so you idle around while he and Yuta devise plans to tiptoe around the higher ups.

A part of you knows that if either of you told him to submit and die, he would. He's already teetering on the edge of self-destruction.

On the outside, he seems perfectly indifferent. Gaze steady, face stone and unchanging as he speaks. He's doomed, ill-fated, someone full of misfortune. He looks so lonely that the air itself parts for him where he stands.

To shoulder so much responsibility, so much death, maybe he truly is alone. Some fraction of him, at least—a piece of himself only he would ever understand.

Your hand snakes into his without a second thought. You don't know why you did it, nor do you have any reasoning that he doesn't yank away from you. His hand trembles, and it's then that you realize his whole body is wracked with tremors that don't match his distant disposition.

The second thing you learn is this: when Yuji self-destructs, he does it from the inside-out.

Itadori Yuji loves chocolate cake.

He loves all food, really, acting like your friend group's personal food dumpster whenever any of you were full. But chocolate cake you knew he had a sweet tooth for.

You used to bring it with you to his dorm, stopping by the convenience stores on the way home to grab a pre-packaged slice from the fridge for him to eat.

"You're making a mess," you would tell him with a frown, using your thumb to wipe up frosting from the corner of his mouth. You would lick the pad of your finger clean after that, and he would watch almost in a trance.

It's the reason why you stop on one of your patrols, poking through the fridge section of a convenience store. The power has been out for a long time in this part of the city, all the food is already room temperature, but you figure this is fine as long as it smells okay.

The way Yuji's face lights up when he sees you is all it takes for the worry to go away.

It briefly feels as though nothing has ever gone wrong—that after this slice of cake the two of you will tumble back onto his mattress and turn on another showing of Titanic. (He groaned about it once, saying he got KO'd too many times during this film. You only laughed in confusion.)

At the end of the day, you know those days will never come back to you, lost forever in the wind.

Fire dances before you and you watch, enchanted by the flames. You remember last night, how not even the firelight could make Yuji look the same as he did before. You turn your head to look at him, to see if it's any different tonight, just for your cheek to be caught in his palm.

His thumb traces your lip, the way you used to do to him. You recognize the pull of his finger against your flesh, the swipe of it to get frosting off, but he still seems dissatisfied.

"What?" You ask.

"It didn't come off," he mutters, leaning in dangerously close to observe. Heat rises all the way to your cheeks and makes your hairs stand on end. His touch is like molten lava. You wonder if it has something to do with the monster living inside of him.

"I can't see it," you whine without a mirror.

He draws a little closer, until he's inches from your face. "Let me..."

You've suddenly been dropped into cold, unknown waters. This is all unfamiliar. He's rushing this, as if making up for all the time the two of you lost pretending you were only friends. As if he can cram all the things he's wanted to tell you into one night.

Recoiling away, you find yourself hesitating. If he kisses you, this all becomes too real. It's an acknowledgment of his impending death. That the thread of his life is finer and further stretched than yours is.

An unpleasant thought rings through your mind. What if I become a curse on him?

"This only ends badly for us," you whisper, but the conviction is missing from your voice.

He doesn't care. At least, it doesn't look like he does. Who knows what he's thinking right now?

"Who cares?" He says. "We're Jujutsu Sorcerers. Everything bad happens to us no matter what."

You don't have any rebuttal to that, no argument that forms in your mind that could challenge his words. He was right. Only disaster befalls Sorcerers. Disaster and grief.

For a while you had forgotten, living these idyllic months watching the days pass by. You feel like you wasted that precious time worrying about stupid things, like what to have for breakfast or what kind of snacks you should pick up for movie night.

(It ended up being popcorn every time. He liked to piss off Sukuna with it, saying the King of Curses would never get to experience the pleasure of picking out kernels from his teeth. You scoffed but bought it anyway.)

Another thought crosses your mind: Yuji is more fit to be in a rom-com, or a television series where the good guys always win. Not this tragedy. Not this massacre.

You wonder if he's ever felt the same way. If he ever wished he could reach into the sky and turn the sun back to a time before he even knew what a curse was.

If you’d met each other under different circumstances, would this have been a different story? The thought makes your heart ache, a part of you so deep that even if you reached into your chest and plucked it, you'd still wail.

"Can I?" He asks you, eager but quiet. Had this been a few months ago, you imagine that he would have had this spark in his eye. That his lips would be crashing into yours with no inhibition.

But Yuji has always been selfless, you think he always will be. He doesn't want to drag you down if you don't want to—an out, they call it. An escape route just before he careens into a ditch.

Hope has drained from every inch of his expression. This is his loneliness talking.

Despite the dread that licks up your spine, you cup his face. You swear he jolts slightly beneath your touch, as if you've reached out to strike him down. A retribution he believes he deserves.

He kisses you like it's his last day on earth. 

You learn one last thing: Itadori Yuji tastes familiarly of death.

Yuta decides to leave you alone for a second night in a row. His presence is so crushing that you know he's alive, but he stalks off somewhere else, leaving just you and Yuji huddled by the pitiful fire you've built.

He once claimed himself jokingly to be a love expert, and then ran off to Kenya for so long that you lost track of how much time passed. You wish you'd asked him before he left what he meant, but at the time it seemed irrelevant. Insignificant. The name Itadori Yuji had not yet been impressed into your heart like a seal.

You're busy setting up the sleeping bags, this time pushing them flush together. They're so close you can barely see the seam between them. Yuji stands on the other side of the fire, watching.

It reminds him of all the times you'd ever scolded him for not making his bed in the morning. I'm gonna crawl back in tonight anyway, he said. Who cares if it's messy?

Idiot, you would call him. But there was no malice behind it. He treated it like a pet name, a badge of honour to be your idiot.

Life felt so simple back then. He was full of determination and life and stuck to his morals as best he could. When he wavered he would text you to come over so you could fall asleep on his chest and suffocate any other thoughts out of his head.

"I've never felt so powerful before," he admits quietly.  You turn to look at him, curious. "Like I could do anything in the world."

There's a negative connotation to that, you know. He could do anything. The world would crumble at his feet and there he would stand, laughing at it all. It isn't his will, not even slightly, but the demon taking refuge in his body would love to see the blood pool.

"Like I could just... reach out and—"

"Yuji!" You hiss, lurching forward to take his hand into yours and retreat from the flame. The skin is already pink and blistering, scorched by the embers. You twist his wrist around, observing where the fire licked the deepest, and pour your energy into him.

When you look up to see if he's crying, or at least grimacing in pain, you find only his smiling face—warm and adoring. For a second it feels like the world isn't burning around you.

It was nice to have you fawning over me.

You wipe that stupid smirk off his face, leaning in to smear a kiss along the scar on his lip.

"Idiot," you say, and he laughs for the first time in so long that it sounds foreign in your ears.

(He doesn't fall asleep that night. He would rather savour the sound of your soft snores, memorize the form of your body in his hold, and try his hardest to burn this into his brain.

So be it if you come to curse him one day. He would welcome you with open arms.)

NOVEMBER 3 2018

The day comes when Megumi sneaks into your hideout, asking for help.

His sister, he explains. He needs help saving Tsumiki. For some reason, resentment boils in your stomach, but then it's snuffed just as fast.

Two days and two nights you've spent pretending Japan isn't collapsing, content with sitting idly by as curses overran Tokyo. You're sure Megumi thought you to be cowards, that you were all hiding under this bridge to wait out the hellstorm that was raining down on your homes.

It was true to some extent. Once Yuji stepped out into battle again, that was that. You're not sure things would ever be the same again, though you suppose you lost the privilege of routine days ago.

"Let me come too," you urge. Three pairs of eyes land on you.

"No," Yuji pushes. "It's dangerous."

"I can fight!"

"You can't," he pauses, then corrects himself, "You won't."

Awkward silence settles over your encampment. Yuta stirs, standing to hold you steady by the shoulders.

"If we need help... if one of us is hurt, we'll need you unharmed. Do you understand?"

Ah, ever so wise, your upperclassman. So easy to persuade you. There's a reason why he's the chosen one only second to Gojo.

You swallow the bile that fights up your throat. "What if you don't come back?"

Yuji steps in this time, knocking away Yuta to hold you by the face. Get a grip, this means. Pull yourself together, don't you dare fall apart in front of me.

"We will."

You once considered telling him how you felt, letting it eat away at you until Nobara groaned in disgust.

“If Itadori starts dating before I do, I’ll puke.”

You remember that you laughed, thinking she was so dramatic. You loved that about her. “I think you would do worse.”

She glared at you, foot lightly kicking at your shin under the table. Still, she made sure to push equal amounts of rice to your side of the plate. “I might burn a village down,” she huffed, placing her chin on her palm.

“You’re fine. Even if I told him how I feel, I don’t think he’d accept.”

“Huh?” Nobara sounded genuinely confused, raising a brow at you. “What makes you think that?”

You didn't know how to answer that. Maybe you were just afraid that you had misinterpreted everything, that the way he held you was protective in a familial manner and that he would slam his door in your face when you tried.

Looking back on it, you can imagine him in the next room ranting about the same things to Megumi.

“He still has posters of Jennifer Lawrence on his wall,” you argued weakly while shoveling rice into your spoon. She watched you take your bite with her lips parted in disbelief.

You wish you had told him, then. Not that it would have changed where you both ended up.

You watch as they pack up their things.

Megumi's demon dog keeps you quiet company, tail thrashing against the ground as you slick back its fur. They talk around the dying flames, devising plan after plan. None seem safe. None would be.

Yuta and Megumi leave first, taking the lead in front of the pack. His dog melts into the shadows and disappears, leaving you sitting alone.

"I want to take you back, but..." Yuji glances over his shoulder toward his death sentence. "Will you make it okay on your own?"

You get up slowly, as if to draw out the time he stands before you. A thousand questions run through your head: what if you never see him again? What if this kills him, not by body, but by his already damaged soul?

He must sense the racing of your mind, so he leans in to engulf you in his arms. In an instant, memories of those days spent lounging in his bed, shoveling your food onto his plate, and purposefully talking louder to tease Megumi come flooding.

A year you would never forget. You're sure it'll become a curse if you dwell, so you tell him: "I'll make it. You go on, they need you."

I need you, too. Stay. If only it were so simple.

He smiles at you, warm like the sun that's hidden behind the barrier. Itadori Yuji looks like a ghost of his former self, battle-worn and covered in scars where his skin used to be smooth. He kisses you again for good measure, making sure he remembers the way you sigh into his mouth.

When he pulls away, there's life gleaming in his eyes.

"Let's watch Human Earthworm 5 when I come back."

Your thumb brushes the corner of his lip. You open your mouth to speak, to finally tell him the truth after all this time. You'd rather not die regretting you never said it, after all.

But you stop.

"I prefer Titanic," you confess. He shakes his head and kisses your forehead. Then he’s gone, taking all the warmth with him.

You'll make up for lost time one day. It won’t be today. You can tell him all about your feelings when he comes back to you.

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids 👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and whatever prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

[Here's part one or whatever. If I feel like making more I'll make more and/or post it to ao333333.]

💚👻👽👻💚

The world is on fire, and Danny is burning.

The GAV is in shreds; wherever he’s crashed, there’s no way to determine up or down. He’s entombed in wreckage. Everything is on fire and everything burns, and it takes Danny all his strength to peel himself from where he’s contorted around the driver’s seat chair, to drag himself through the twisted metal and shards of glass with nothing but his hands and his tears.

He hurts.

It hurts so badly.

He crawls, because he can’t tell if he has legs or a tail right now, and is too afraid to find out he can’t walk by injuring one of his legs permanently. It’s hard to see through the smoke and the tears. He can’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe even if he wanted to.

There are instincts unique to being dead. Danny can’t tell up or down, and he can’t tell where he is or remember how he got here, but his core tugs him towards somewhere dark. Somewhere cool. Somewhere enclosed, even—even better, so Danny can curl up and sob in peace.

Danny wedges himself into a dark corner, curls himself up as much as he can, and lets himself drop into his core.

*

Something is touching him somethingistouchinghimsomethingistouchinghim—

Danny pops out of his core with a scream. No words. No coherency. Everything hurts, and all he can do is scream.

Someone is touching him. The thing touching him is body-shaped. Human-shaped. Danny screams higher, louder—some part of his hindbrain knows that if he screams for real then there won’t be a human but there will be guts and gore and blood, but Danny’s too tired to scream for real, and too weak. His scream is only enough to send the human sprawling back instead.

More humans take the place of the first. Danny keens, fights back a sob—when another tries to rouse him from his hiding spot with an exposed hand, Danny flashes his teeth.

The human flinches, but doesn’t go away.

Danny feigns a fanged bite. The figure jumps back. Good.

He’s too weak to run. He’s too weak to walk through the walls of his hiding spot and dart away. His visibility flickers—probably how a human found him in the first place. He’s so tired. Everything hurts. But if he looks dangerous and acts dangerous, maybe they’ll leave him alone. They have to leave him alone.

Please, please leave him alone.

They don’t.

There’s something in his face. Danny doesn’t recognize the shape immediately, but eventually something clicks: a loop on a stick is a catchpole. The strangers are trying to capture him.

He’s so afraid of something else around his neck. His whole body racks with shivers. He can’t run. He can’t bite. Please, please, please—

It doesn’t latch to his hand. It latches to his wrist.

Danny is only peripherally aware of being dragged onto his knees, of being dragged into a container. By the time the doors shut in around him, his mind is empty of anything that isn’t fear and pain, pain, pain.

He drops into his core.

*

Danny wakes up in a container.

It’s not the same container. But all containers are the same.

Danny screams. The soundwaves vibrate the glass until it shakes, slamming against the floor until cracks form in the concrete beneath him.

Still, no cracks form in the container. When he wails a second time, there’s no strength behind it. He just sobs.

He’s alone. He’s alone and he’s contained and no one is coming to get him. His transportation is in pieces. He’s injured and he’s scared. He’s so scared. Everything hurts. He wants to hide in his core and he wants to run away and he wants to slither through the wall and he doesn’t have the energy into any of it.

Danny curls up in a corner, hopes he’s left alone—or better, released—and hides.

He doesn’t know how much time passes before he hears a click.

…But he hears a click. Danny peeks open an eye.

There’s…food. He thinks it’s food, anyway. Oatmeal? It’s in a bowl and it’s beige and it’s on a tray on the ground.

Danny sniffs. …The last captors hadn’t offered him food. They hadn’t thought he’d had needs, or that they ought to feed him.

It’s a miserable, aching feeling when he thinks this is a step up.

There’s a flimsy plastic spoon on the tray. When Danny jumps on the bowl, devouring the contents as quickly as his body will let him, the spoon goes down the hatch with the gruel.

Danny falls back asleep in the far corner of the container miserable, cold, in pain, and injured. But he falls asleep full.

It’s a luxury to not be hungry.

*

There’s a click.

Danny ignores it. He’s not hungry. He’s sleepy. His body is trying to conserve calories and metabolize new ones. He doesn’t want to wake up.

The oatmeal goes uneaten.

*

There’s a click. Danny’s eyes crack open.

Apparently he’s been asleep for a while, because there are three bowls of uneaten oatmeal on the ground, waiting for him. All are in varying stages of crusting over.

Whatever. Free food. Danny wolfs it down anyway, and tucks himself back into his corner. He’s almost him-shaped again. His human traits are slowly returning, cell by cell, piece by piece. He can almost feel the fractures he knows he’ll have in his legs!

…Wait. Wasn’t his container opaque?

It’s…not anymore. The walls are clear. Danny can see—or, well, until he gets his eyes back, can sort of feel—the room around him, and the trace presences of the beings who occupy it.

It’s a lab. Danny knew it would be, but his core still drops down, down down. He had been praying he’d never see a live specimen lab ever again. He certainly hadn’t wanted to see yet another one from inside the cage.

Humans come and go from the lab. Most are in white coats and pants, but they’re not GIW. Or, well, they’re probably not GIW, anyway, considering that they’ve been feeding him. The guys in white never think of his needs, since they don’t care if he Ends or not. There are monitors that fuzz and warp in his not-vision with details he can’t make out on screen, but knows instinctively that the monitors pertain to him.

And to his capture.

There are some visitors in odd colored suits. They talk. The colorful ones don’t approach him, but they…watch.

No one approaches. Good. Danny will bite them if they do.

With the see-through window, Danny can see the bright-suited blob shove a tray of food through a slot in his container.

It doesn’t fall to the floor, though. There’s a little mechanical thing that brings the oatmeal and flimsy spoon to a safe rest on the steel floor.

…Alright. Bone appetite. Danny’s hungry, and food is food. He pours most of the bowl straight into his stretched mouth and scrapes the rest in with a spoon.

More of his wounds are sealing. Healing. His core doesn’t throb so horribly with pain. The cracks in his soul are smoothing out. With consistent food and rest, Danny will be able to actually mount an escape.

Good. Danny licks the flecks of meal from the edges of his mouth. Good.

When he naps, this time, it’s on purpose.

Soon he’ll be healed enough to leave.

*

The clear window doesn’t go away. Danny’s poor sight doesn’t improve, but he can see people come and go. Danny’s never truly left alone. There is always at least one brightly-colored human around (or one dark, silent human), and an assortment of white-coated scientists milling about.

The clear window lets them see him, presumably. If Danny wants to escape, he’ll have to be careful not to be seen.

Quietly, so quietly. Danny slo-o-o-owly amps up the resonance of his core.

There are cameras. There must be. There are always cameras. Disrupting the electrical flow in and around his container is essential to getting himself out of sight.

The lights flicker. The human milling about all flock to monitors, silent voices coming muffled through the see-though walls of the container. Danny reels in his resonance just a touch—whoops.

But no one is looking.

Something twinges in Danny. Well…no one is looking.

Very, very quietly, Danny peels a relatively safe amount of ectoplasm away from his core. A Danny-shaped shadow forms, and, yeesh, does he really look that bad?

Whatever. There’s no time.

Danny turns himself invisible. He slips through the walls of his container, and leaves the lab to explore the base.

[kinardsheart]

prompts!!! :

“The 118 responding to a helicopter crash and they find out it’s Tommy (nobody dies) and it’s just all fluffy and angsty with a happy ending”

ive seen so many variations of this but uh i want a go before i sleep so sorry if this is cringe or weird or inaccurate exdept i dont really care, ty @alittlefuckingdisaster !

perhaps heavy angst because im feeling really sad (phoebe bridgers is on).

———————————

“Mayday, mayday, mayday! This is Tommy Kinard, 217. My helicopters going down, the screens have shut down and controls aren’t working, I’m hovering over the structure!”

Everyone on the ground’s heads immediately shot up, eyeing the only helicopter in the sky as it started to shake violently mid-flight. Buck’s blood ran ice cold, nausea overtaking him as he looked to the sky, then to Bobby’s similarly alarmed face. Shit.

They were wrapping up on a big scene, a 5 alarm fire at a massive cabin (mansion, really) in the woods, right next to a scenic cliffside view. It hadn’t gone smoothly, but they had thought the worst was over.

“Firefighter Kinard, can you in any way control the plane and make a landing?” The captain from the 127 spoke, a dimwit having assisted in the fire alongside them.

No, he couldn’t. He just said he couldn’t. Buck had to help somehow, he just had to move. But his feet were glued to the ground and all he could do was watch in horror as the helicopter shook one last time with vigor before colliding directly into the ends of a forest, branches and wings blending in so thoroughly you could barely the bright blue paint. Tommy had said he wanted to paint his car blue the other day, over lemonade and giggles. A loud screech, Tommy’s loud “fuck” over the radio, and then silence. Deafening silence.

It may have lasted an hour, a day, or a minute. He couldn’t move. He was paralysed, staring at the fallen chopper as flames began to lick at the edges, spreading brazenly through the trees back into the plane as it balanced eerily, one wrong breeze capable of sending the copter careening off the cliffside.

“Firefighter Kinard, check in.”

Silence as everyone collectively held their breath.

Buck was about to press his radio, screaming for Tommy to check in, to talk, to just let them know he was alive. Please be alive. I’ll pray to whoever I need to, please.

A click, and then a battered, exhausted but oh so alive voice spoke. “I’m here.”

Sighs of relief were spread around until the atmosphere tensed again, everyone shifting into rescue mode once more. This was a delicate situation, and needed careful deliberation before action. Buck was done with thinking, being useless in action. This was Tommy. He started to run towards the fire despite the desperate calls to come back and plan behind him from the 118 & 217 alike.

Standing infront of the blaze, the helicopter a few feet above him, he went into a private channel and prayed once more that his boyfriend was still conscious as the vehicle leaned ominously backwards.

“Tommy, can you jump?”

He could hear the groan of agony even from the ground as the other presumably tried to move.

A click. “No… Evan, it’s bad. I- My leg- I can’t move it. I can’t move my arm either.”

The words weighed heavy as Tommy took a moment.

“You should go. Save yourself, I-I don’t- I don’t want you to see this, sweetheart.”

Tears sprung to his eyes, the reality of the situation suddenly hitting him as the fire crackled and hissed, making it’s way through to engulfing the plane. He had called him sweetheart, even with the acceptance of his death. The nausea came back with a vengeance, but did it ever really leave?

No. This wasn’t how it ended.

An idea formed in his head. It wasn’t a good one, but it was better than nothing. It involved him not losing Tommy, and that was all he needed. He took a few steps backwards, then ran forward with as much speed as he could generate before leaping, making an ‘oomph’ sound as he collided with a solid branch, chest screaming in pain. Scrambling up onto it, he looked up. Just a few more to go. Determination was all he felt.

He couldn’t lose Tommy. He wouldn’t. He was undeniably his soulmate; the only one he wanted to keep. It was ironic that the only person he wanted to keep had to be the one that was injured first. Maybe his bad luck was infectious. Every touch, every kiss, every look gave him butterflies, Fireworks exploded behind his eyes everytime the older man had placed his big hands anywhere on his body. The love he felt with Tommy was like nothing he’d felt ever, and he wasn’t losing it to something he fought everyday.

Panting heavily by the time he made it to the same level as the helicopter, his boyfriend’s eyes widened in panic as they met. Even now, those beautiful pupils brought him comfort. He was so gone on him, barely able to even feel the heat burning his exposed skin as the fire claimed the tree he was gripping on to.

“Evan- get down. Now. Why are you here? No- you’re going to get hurt, get down!” The other tried to sit up while growling, making the deathtrap lean backwards dangerously. The sight nearly made him hurl, knowing the fatal drop behind them.

“Tommy, don’t move, please. I have a plan. Let me come closer.”

The previous panic widened into downright despair, the arm that was cradling his injuries moving to grip the bar next to him. “Baby, please. I need you to leave and save yourself. It’s not too late.”

“The 118 is right under us, just grab my hand. I’ll save us. Tommy.” Buck was begging now, had been creeping closer inch by inch until he was barely a meter away, hand outstretched as the flames closed in on them.

In an incredible show of trust, he felt a familiar warm hand wrap around his just as the helicopter gave one last guttural noise. He pulled Tommy forward into his arms before they were met with an explosion so loud, so violent, Buck would’ve called it beautiful if it hadn’t put the man in his arms in danger. The shock had sent them both flying backwards towards the ground, and in his last moments of consciousness, all he could do was wrap his body tight around the older man’s and brace for impact.

Tommy would be okay. If they couldn’t be together in this life, Buck would find him in the next.

The last thing he felt was a kiss to his forehead and then pain. So much pain. But the ground underneath him was soft? Despite the voices begging him to stay awake as the warmth in his arms was removed, he was so sleepy..

Huh, did he have somewhere to be..?

———

“You need to ask him to move in.”

Buck grinned toothily, clinking his glass against Eddie’s in agreement as he sat down opposite him.

“I know. I’ve already picked out the place.”

“Cocky.” They laughed, letting the pleasant buzz overtake them.

———

“Yeah, I’ll come get him. Sorry Maddie.”

“Don’t be sorry, he’s my baby brother. I’d love for him to stay but he keeps talking about missing his hot pilot boyfriend.”

Tommy chuckled, saying that he would be there soon and ending the call.

When he pulled up, parking and walking inside, he was met with a sight to say the least.

Evan was sprawled out on the couch, shirt riding up ever so deliciously, but eyes red-rimmed as if he was crying. It made alarm bells go off in his head as he raised a hand to gently hold his face.

“You okay baby?”

Those beautiful glassy baby blues flicked over to meet his, tears immediately falling as he started wailing, launching himself into the chest infront of him. “Tooooommmmyyyy…~”

He was so, so drunk. The older man chuckled, bundling the lanky man up in his arms princess style, before dipping his head in acknowledgement to Maddie in the corner. She smiled at him warmly, yet the happiness didn’t meet her eyes. “You know he loves you… like, so much, right?”

He had heard. “The feelings mutual, I assure you.”

The brunette shook her head. “I know that. But I want you to know Tommy, it’s not just him. We love you too. You have a place in this family, even if you’re not married. You don’t need to constantly act like you’re an outsider because you’re not. We love you, Tommy. We’re always going to be here for you.”

Oh. Picking up his drunk lover wasn’t something he expected to be done with in tears, but the 118 (though Maddie wasn’t technically a part of them), had ways of surprising him. He nodded, a bit choked up as she leaned forward to give him a kiss on the cheek. When had she gotten so close?

———

When he was able to place Evan gently in the frontseat, he was met with eyes that should’ve been shut staring right at him with adoration.

Alright, he couldn’t help it if he leaned forward to place a kiss on those pouting lips, and then on the enticing birthmark above.

“I love you, Evan. I’m so excited to live with you.”

The other smiled goofily, sighing in content.

“Tomorrow. We move in tomorrow, right?”

“Yep.”

“I love you too, Tommy. I think we were born to be together. I think that in every life, I’d find you.. every life, I’d fight to come home to you. Forever.”

He chuckled affectionately and shook his head. “In every life, Evan.”

———

“He’s not breathing, start compressions.”

———

“Evan!”

“Step back, sir, we’ve got this.”

“No, he’s my- we were meant to move in today, please let me-”

“Sir, we can handle this.”

“No pulse, restarting compressions.”

“Please…”

———

“I’ve got a pulse!”

[laura1633]

a drabble of charles wanting to be in maxs lap? :)

Hi anon, thank you for the ask ♥️. I took it in a bit of a cutesy silly direction so hopefully that is okay, I was just in the mood to write a nice cute drabble today.

------

Charles isn’t jealous of a cat. 

He isn’t. That would be ridiculous. 

Except Sassy is currently snuggled in Max’s lap and taking up the space where Charles would normally choose to perch himself. The Dutchman is cooing softly and giving Sassy little pets on the top of her head and the sound of her purrs are filling the room. Charles scrunches his nose up and tries not to think about how loudly he would be purring if Max was gently petting him and running his large hands through his hair. 

“Has she been fed?” Charles asks curiously, it’s not exactly his finest hour but if Sassy is due a feed then that is a sure fire way to get her up and off where she is curled up against Max’s soft thick thighs. 

“She’s been fed, haven’t you Sassy?” Max coos as he looks down at Sassy and smiles lovingly at her. 

“Okay” Charles nods and tries not to get paranoid about the fact that Sassy is now glaring at him, the last thing he wants is to get into a battle of wits against a cat.

“You look cute like that” Max hums and Charles feels his heart skip as he realises Max is in fact talking to him this time and not Sassy, “You should wear my clothes all the time” 

Charles flutters his eyelashes in his boyfriend’s direction as he tugs on the large hooded top he has borrowed from the Dutchman. It’s warm and fleecy inside so he’s just paired it with a nice tight pair of boxer briefs. 

“You going to come and cuddle up then?” Max grins as he pats the space on the couch next to him. It’s not exactly where Charles wants to place himself though, he very much wants to clamber right on to Max’s lap and melt right up against his boyfriend’s body. 

Sassy looks territorial though. 

Charles cautiously makes his way and over and remembers to coo softly at the little fluffy menace that is currently staring him down and clearly laying claim to Max. 

“Did you just have a shower?” Max asks as Charles takes a seat, “You smell of coconut” 

Charles grins, at least he smells better than Sassy - she’s been rolling around in the dirt all day, the only thing Charles has been rolling about in is in bed earlier this morning with Max. The Monegasque settles down as closely to Max as he dares and leans in bravely to rest his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder. Luckily Sassy doesn’t hiss this time but Charles can see her eyeing him with suspicion.

“Oh look, it’s her boyfriend!” Charles proclaims excitedly as he sees the large tabby cat from next-door stood outside on the patio. Right on cue there’s a loud meowing that can be heard even from the other side of the glass door and Sassy snaps her head up immediately to look over. 

It’s not Charles’ proudest moment but he feels a huge sense of victory as Sassy jumps up off of Max’s lap and bounds over to the door. The Monegasque almost trips in his haste to let her out. It’s not that he doesn’t like her, he does (kind of), he’s just not sure she is too keen on him yet. As she struts outside she starts nuzzling up against the large tabby cat before trotting off with him presumably to go snuggle up. 

Which is precisely was Charles also intends to do. The Monegasque turns on his heels and tries not to skip too happily as he sees Max’s muscled thighs ready and waiting for him to crawl on to. 

Max hums happily the second Charles clambers into his lap. The Dutchman’s hands glide up the inside of the hooded top Charles is wearing and sooth up and down the Monegasque’s back before settling just above his hips.

Charles does indeed purr. Or at least makes a happy soft little vibrating sound as Max’s palms rest against his skin. The Monegasque snuggles in as close as he can as he leans his body weight up against the broadness of Max’s chest and buries his head right into the crook of the Dutchman’s neck. 

Max gives the best hugs, Charles is just annoyed it took him so many years to discover that.

“You nice and comfy?” Max asks as he wraps Charles up tighter in his arms. 

The Monegasque nods before tipping his head up so he can pepper some much deserved kisses up Max’s jaw and lips.

It’s perfect.

Charles grins to himself as he settles down for the evening all wrapped up warm on his boyfriend’s lap.  It’s the most comfortable spot in the whole house. Max is muscled and broad enough to make Charles feel nice and delicate as he sits atop his thighs. But Max is also soft and curvy and nice and squishy to rest against. Charles likes to call it the perfect balance - a soft but muscled body - the absolute best of both worlds. 

Charles fully intends to stay where he is snuggled up for the rest of the night. 

Charles 1 :  Sassy 0 

[jade-parcels]

I like to imagine Haitham as the kind of guy who would help out his cute neighbor… sfw (f!reader) 🌱

When he sees you carrying a ton of bags from the market, he’ll turn around to aid you, even if this trip will take him out of his way. Even when you assure him that you’ve got it, your strained expression tells him all he needs to know. He swiftly transfers the bags into his own arms, unfazed by the weight he’s carrying uphill and up the front steps of your home. He doesn’t get why you thank him so profusely, as if he’d saved your house from a fire or something. If he didn’t see this task as something worthwhile, he simply wouldn’t have stopped to help. It was a rational choice. One that was definitely not influenced by anything else.

When he sees you sweeping your front porch with a sprained hand, he heads across the street without a second thought (leaving Kaveh and his nagging behind). He doesn’t say a word, not even a ‘good morning’ as he takes the broom from your un-injured hand in order to complete the task for you. Only when he feels you staring in shock does he offer a hum of acknowledgment and a short ‘go back inside. I’ll let you know when I’m finished’. You want to stand there and keep him company… but you listen to what he says, going back inside in order to hide your flushed face. You offer him a snack as payment for his good deed and insist he takes it. So he does. After he’s done, he simply walks back across the street, disappearing and leaving you standing there as if he was never there at all. The only evidence of his presence was the clean porch…

When he sees a commotion down by the docks, a circle of people laughing as an unlucky person is swarmed by a bird. The bird squawks as it tries to grab whatever is in the poor person’s arms, presumably food, the thing only getting more aggressive as time goes on. Haitham sighs at the sight, bothered by the way no one attempts to assist this person. He nudges his way through the crowd, eyes widening as he realizes who this person is. It’s you. Calmly and quickly, he removes his cape, making his way over to slap the bird out of the air with the heavy fabric. Feathers fly and the bird hits the ground. Confused and disoriented, it gives up on attacking in favor of flying away, retreating to wallow in a tree elsewhere. Haitham turns towards the crowd, frowning at the spectators. “Shame on you all. How can you call yourselves men if you stand there and allow a lady to be attacked like that?” Before anyone can argue, he’s leading you away to check you for injuries in a less crowded area. His frown deepens at the scratch on your cheek and the other down your arm. He marches you up to the hospital, standing wordlessly by your side as you’re bandaged up. You can’t believe that he did all of that for you… he risked being scratched or bit just to help you- he even shamed those sailors… And when he took you home, he gave you fifty mora to cover the loss of whatever food you dropped whilst being attacked. He looked like he wanted to say something, like he didn’t want ti leave your side, but he left, looking over his shoulder to make sure you made it inside before going into his own home.

When he heads to the tavern, intending on playing cards with Kaveh and his buddies for awhile, he immediately finds his attention drawn towards you. You’re sat in a booth all alone, dressed up as if on a date- but judging by your slumped posture and diss appointed expression, he concludes that your date never showed up. He reasons with himself that it would be rude to leave you there, one can’t simply ignore a girl who looks miserable, nearly on the verge of tears. So, abandoning the idea of invocation tcg, Haitham easily slides into the booth across from you. You’re stunned, eyes wide as you try to ask what he’s doing. “You got all dressed up just for some fool to flake out on you. It would be a shame to waste all the effort you went through. We can share drinks and a dessert together” For good measure, he even reached across the table to hold your hand gently in his own. With your free hand, you wipe your tears away, allowing yourself to smile at the kind gesture. The scholar listened to you talk, bought you drinks as promised, told some stories of his own. At the end of the date he walked you home with his arm linked with yours. You noticed how he flushed a bright red and avoided making eye contact, his behavior much different than it had been back at the tavern. He hesitated at your door, seeming to contemplate his own actions before settling on something appropriate for a first date. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, warm breath fanning across your face. Maybe it was your imagination… but when he crossed the street back to his own house, he seemed to move a lot faster than usual (unbeknownst to you, he was sweating and shaking from nerves when he shut the door, pressing his back against it as he cringed at his own awkward behavior… get a grip haitham!!)

The next time he sees you, it’s to fulfill his own selfish desire. Not because you need him, because he needs you. After time spent thinking about your date, thinking about how you made him feel, he came to the conclusion that he loved you. He consulted books to help him decipher his feelings and had a short chat with Kaveh on the subject of love. It took a week for him to muster the courage to approach you again, worried that his awkwardness he displayed at the end of your date would have weirded you out. Finally, he headed out to find you. He knew you wouldn’t be home now, you’d be out buying something to make for dinner. With a sense of urgency, he made his way through the crowded market square. This time, you found him first. You touched his arm to get his attention and once you had it, he tugged you side to speak to you away from the crowd. He asked what you were up to… you showed him what you’d gotten so far. Naturally, he took your bags to carry for you. “I uh… I would like to invite you out. Perhaps tomorrow after I return from work, we can both get dressed up and go somewhere,” he offers, avoiding your gaze once again “Last time you were dressed up for someone else. You were waiting for someone else but I want to take you out… I want… I’d like to-“ for fuck’s sake, he finds himself stumbling- he never stumbles. This is the effect you have on him. “I want to be the one to take you on a date- a spontaneous outing where we could do anything you desire. I want to make you happy…” he bites the inside of his cheek to get himself to shut up, he almost can’t even bear to look at you after making such a big fool of himself. Then suddenly you’re on him, hugging him with that bright smile on your face, telling him how you’d love to go out together. He relaxes into your touch, resting his chin on the top of your head momentarily as he gathers himself. Tomorrow at eight, the two of you will do something. Maybe you’ll go out to eat, maybe you’ll see a show. Who knows… it’s fun to not have everything planned out sometimes.

A street no longer separates the two of you. Now, the only space between you is a few inches as you lay beside him in bed. His chivalrous behavior only continues as you live together. Haitham reaches for things for you, carries heavy things for you, holds doors for you. To him, it’s all rational. Of course he would grab a vase from the top shelf for you, you couldn’t reach it. Naturally, he would do the heavy lifting! Why else would he work out? And he would always hold the door for you because that’s what you do for someone you love. It’s simple. It’s logical. Love is a lot more logical than he thought it would be. It’s logical to make you breakfast in bed because you love when he does. It’s logical to live under one roof because if you didn’t, you would be going back and forth between houses all day. It’s logical to sleep in for five more minutes because holding you like this makes him feel like the luckiest man in the world.

[pprodsuga]

wrong number | sunghoon

thirteen: charlie, linus, and franklin

summary: when a barista of the cafe sunghoon frequents gives him her phone number, he decides to try his luck and texts her. problem is, it seems as though he’s got it all wrong and texts you instead.

notes: ayo written chapter <3 she’s a shortie but that’s okay! btw you will need to read this part first for this chapter to make sense.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

This particular weekend feels silent and tranquil amidst the chaotic week of responsibilities and obligations. Sunoo, Jungwon, and Riki have promised to let you recharge over the course of the next two days before they bother you again, business as usual. You’ve spent the better part of your evening eating a home cooked meal and cleaning your skin until it’s fresh and moisturized. Today feels like a well-deserved Friday and you don’t imagine it can get any better than this. 

It's relatively quiet tonight, the soft sound of wind rustling through the trees being the only thing keeping you company at such a late hour. In addition, the moon is full and bright, reflecting off of the window pane and it leaves a small sliver of light amongst the darkness of your room. You reckon the stars are shining extra bright tonight.

Sunghoon’s been a fixture in your life for a short while but it feels like you’ve met your twin flame. A fire erupts within your chest when you see his contact name on your display screen. Your cheeks flush and you feel the childish need to prevent anyone from seeing the message no matter how mundane or boring it may be. Still, you revel in the feeling of first crushes and the cliche kind of romance you only see in movies. 

Another text from Sunghoon comes through.

sunghoon <3: don’t sleep on me, pretty girl

sunghoon <3: can i call you?

You throw your phone until it lands with a soft thud on top of your mattress.

It might be embarrassing, the way you gasp at his question. Sending voice notes back and forth is one thing. Neither of you are obligated to be available at the same time and there aren’t awkward pauses like two people trying to think of what to say next. Voice notes are mini conversations where it’s acceptable to jump from topic to topic, straying so far from the original point that you rarely find your way back. Phone calls are new, uncharted territory. 

You briefly think about whether or not you should freshen up until you realize it wouldn’t involve your video camera. Sunghoon knows you're tucked in bed with the blankets by your chin, so he must understand you’re in a dark room and presumably in pajamas (you are).

After deliberating for three and a half minutes on Twitter, you respond. 

you: i would love that 

Your fingers burn as you press send. It feels like a risky text, one that you immediately regret sending. What if Sunghoon doesn’t find you interesting since your conversation isn’t over messages? What if he doesn't like your voice? What if you say something wrong and he decides to never text you again? 

“I, um,” you stutter, not used to the feeling of flirting over the phone. Or, at least you think Sunghoon’s flirting. He wouldn’t say your voice was cute if he meant that to be friendly, right? “W-Wow it’s so different hearing your voice on a phone call.” 

You wear, you ascend when he laughs again. 

“You’re funny, you know that?” You try to think of a response but he beats you to it. “Are you really tucked underneath your blankets?” 

“I would not lie about sleeping underneath very comfortable sheets.” You ruffle the comforter for good measure. “See? Definitely not lying.” 

“I’m trying to imagine your room. I’m thinking of pink sheets and pillows.”

“Wrong,” you chuckle. “Lavender.” 

“Purple, I see.” Sunghoon says this like he’s pretending to contemplate. “Can you guess what mine are?”

“I dunno, something super stereotypical for a guy. Like navy blue.”

He goes quiet. “Wow, I’m actually surprised that you got it right.” 

“There’s something about men and their bond to navy blue bedding, Hoonie. What can I say?” 

That boyish laugh of his will be the death of you. “I guess you’re right. Now that I think about it, there’s only one person in my apartment who doesn’t have navy sheets.” 

“Unlike you, they’re original.” You hope the joke lands through your voice but a small part in the back of your brain tells you that you might’ve gone too far.

“I guess all men really are the same,” he sighs dramatically. 

“Do you think it’s a little weird that we’ve been talking for a month and we’ve never met before?” you ask.

“Honestly? Not really. It was at first, considering you’re not the person who originally gave me their phone number.”

You nod despite the fact that he can’t see you do it. “It’s weird that the barista would give you a fake number even though she wanted to give it to you.” 

Perhaps it’s your affinity to believe the good in people or your own naivety, but you’d love to believe that meeting Sunghoon the way you did was pure fate. Your friends know you question where you stand in life and if you’ll ever experience those wondrous ‘firsts’ when it comes to dating and relationships, since it seems as if the people in your life have been. While you’re happy for them, it makes conversations awkward when you have nothing to contribute. 

“I’m glad I ended up texting you, if I’m being honest,” he admits from the other side of the phone. “I don’t…date, really. I’m not the type of person to hook up with random girls all the time either, or anything. But after what my ex did, it left a weird taste in my mouth.

“I can understand that. Even though that happened years ago, it’s still a traumatic thing to experience.”

“My roommates tell me that all the time. It’s just hard, you know? I felt weird telling you about it considering one shouldn’t talk about their exes to people they’re talking to.”

Sunghoon confirming the fact that you two are indeed in the talking stage makes your heart flutter. 

“I understand that too,” you agree. “But it’s important to know, I think. As long as you’re willing to share? I mean, asking people what their favorite color is or their go-to ramen order is so overrated. I want to know the nitty gritty.”

“Including the fact that I have navy blue bedding?” he jokes. 

“Exactly that,” you joke back. “I don’t have many stories to tell. No evil exes to fight on this end.” 

“Well there’s one evil ex and one short-lived relationship, but I hardly think a middle school romance counts for anything.” 

“No, I don’t think it does.”

With the initial awkwardness of a first phone call out of the way, the conversation between you and Sunghoon flows like a natural waterstream. It seems as though every topic is on the table, as you both start discussing your everyday habits to what your respective families are like back at home. You tell him about your parents and he tells you about his sister. Sunghoon opens up about living with four other guys and you’re sure he can hear your shock when he tells you the things he puts up with. It’s moments like this where you’re grateful to live alone, even if three of your closest friends stop by more often than not. 

Talking to Sunghoon makes you feel like you’re completely and utterly seen. You understand, now, why people talk about the difference between being acknowledged by your friends and having someone see you for who you are as they get to know you. Sunghoon doesn’t have any precursor as to who you are because the person he’s getting to know is the person you present to him without any past judgment or assumptions. It feels nice.

“You hang out with some of the same people every week, right?” Sunghoon asks. It warms your heart to know he pays attention. “The ones who like shrimp chips.”

“That’s Charlie,” you lie. Jungwon’s advice of omitting your names in favor of replacing them with the characters in the Peanuts comics asserts itself and the name ‘Charlie’ comes out faster than you intended. “Yeah, he loves those. I buy extra for him because he keeps finishing mine.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.” 

“Well, he pays for other things for me too sometimes. I see it as a bargain.”

“And your other friends?” 

The guilt inside of you has dropped to your stomach. 

“There’s Franklin. He’s a sweetheart, really. Very sassy too but I think he only gets like that when you get to know him. When we first met, he was so quiet and I thought he didn’t like me at first.” 

“Can’t imagine someone not liking you.” 

You’re quiet for a moment. “Now you’re just making me blush.” 

“I’d like to see how many times I can do that on this phone call.” You pay no mind to the phone and shove your face into your pillows to let out a short-lived squeal, hoping that the sound muffles your noise. Did you put your phone on mute? 

You can hear Sunghoon chuckling as you pick your phone back up. “What about your other friend?” 

“Oh, that’s Linus.” The lie comes out easier and you can’t tell if it’s because he’s just complimented you or if it’s because you’ve been lying this entire time. “He’s a real sweetheart. He comes off as very boyish, you know? Hard and strong, that kind of thing. I’ve known him since we were kids and he’s my longest friend. He’s the type of person I can really depend on and someone I trust with my whole heart, even if he is a little shit sometimes.” 

“I can relate. One of my best friends, Jake, who also happens to be my roommate, is like that too. He definitely looks like the kind of guy who sleeps around. You know the type; cocky smile who looks like he works out a ton. But he’s a real sweetheart and can crack a joke like it’s nothing. Girls always assume he’s got so many people under his belt but the poor guy is a hopeless romantic.” 

“That’s so sweet,” you say with a frown. “I hope he’s able to find someone really soon.”

“You and I both,” Sunghoon sighs. “I cannot handle his dumbass comments about us every time I tell him about you.”

“Let him be,” you chide. “If he wants to say we’re fated, let him.” 

Sunghoon is silent on the other line. 

“You’re so,” Sunghoon begins to say before cutting himself off to chuckle. “You’re just so bold. I have never met anyone so straightforward before. You’re flirting with me and aren’t shy to do it.” 

“Me?” you feign innocence, a giggle threatening to spill from your lips. “Flirting? I don’t flirt. I don’t know how to flirt. Maybe you should teach me some time.” 

You swear that you can hear a small grunt from the other end of the line and mentally pat yourself on the back for your ingenious thinking.  

“Enough,” says Sunghoon. “You’re trouble.” 

“Don’t you have any guilty pleasures?”

On the opposite end of the phone line, that one question alone makes Sunghoon bite his lip and shut his eyes. He’s glad you aren’t there to witness him do it. 

“Cute isn’t the word I’d use for you right now,” he finally says. 

The rest of the night is spent on the phone with Sunghoon, so much so that you forget about your white lie and the guilt that sits in the back of your mind. It feels too good to be seen by somebody who doesn’t hold any expectations over your head. You’re just you, the person who hides her romantic tendencies by cracking jokes about how love isn’t all it’s supposed to be. But Sunghoon allows you to tear that down and discover what having a crush might just feel like.

Instead, you fall asleep on the phone and are pleasantly surprised to wake up and find that he didn’t end the phone call while you were sleeping. 

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

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*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

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[dontmixpaintinyourcoffee]

Some thoughts while I'm watching Nerdy Prudes Must Die for the first time:

After the Big Game, something that's been itching my brain for a while came back- Clivesdale. Hatchet Town is reinforcing this, but since Black Friday and Honey Queen the Clivesdale hate has really started to stand out to me. Yes it's a funny gag, but the Hatchetfield disdain for Clivesdale is straight-up cultish. Laura Cunningham (I think was her name?) had lived in Hatchetfield for 15 years, but was entirely excommunicated when it came out that she was from Clivesdale. Keep in mind, she was well-liked enough to be a Honey Queen candidate. Two teenagers are brutally murdered and everyone is more focused on the loss against the Chemists. Even people who hate Hatchetfield like Emma and Ziggy hate Clivesdale more. The general population of Hatchetfield is so feverish. I know that the Wiggly doll riots happened all over the world, but holy SHIT it didn't take any time at all for Hatchetfield to totally cave in on itself!

Here's the other thing that gets me- has anyone ever really left Hatchetfield? Anyone who wanted to?

•Emma Perkins has exactly one life goal- not to die in Hatchetfield. Her entire life had been, up until Jane's death, about getting away from Hatchetfield. She is officially pronounced dead after the explosion at Starlight Theatre, though she survived in Clivesdale Hospital. She only lived for a couple weeks after "dying" in Hatchetfield. She also dies almost immediately after returning to her hometown in the events of Forever and Always. She does not die after the fire at her weed farm, but she is arrested and presumably imprisoned in Hatchetfield.

•Frank Pricely is imprisoned by Sherman Young after his attempted escape.

•Alice Woodward dies in The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals before she can leave for college. In fact, she dies after skipping the bus to Clivesdale

•Lex and Hannah Foster (along with Ethan Greene) have plans to escape Hatchetfield and head to California. All of them die before they can even get past Nantucket bridge.

•Zoey Chambers wants to win Honey Queen for the funds to get out of Hatchetfield. In both Honey Queen and The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals she dies before she has the chance to leave.

•Jonathan Brisby attempts to retrieve Lucy Stockworth from Hatchetfield. Brisby dies in the woods, Lucy disappears in the same woods with the Woolyfoot.

•Jenny and Andy planned to move to Clivesdale, but Jenny dies before she can leave, and by the time Andy becomes Andrew Killgore he's back at CCRP in Hatchetfield. Obviously this is wobbly because of timeline shenanigans, but it's implied that Ted didn't actually cross timelines during the events of Time Bastard, just fucked around in his own a lot.

There's just something. There's something about Hatchetfield. It's like a black hole. If it wants you there, and it does, you always end up there, and it's not likely you'll leave a second time.

Something about the ambient affects of the town absolutely fascinates me, I've been thinking about this stuff for like 5 years and it's not gotten old to me yet

[windvexer]

banishing (how to do it)

yeah this is like all UPG but it works good for me, take what you will and leave the rest behind.

if your response to this is "but most people never ever have to deal with unwanted spirit problems so you're probably wrong if you think it's a spirit! do shadow work and touch grass!" please let me invite you to just not interact with this post at all.

Don't cleanse. Like please don't, why do people do this??

"I am confident an unwanted spirit is in my home and I cleansed but nothing happened."

Okay, an unwanted guest is in your home and you did a bit of vacuuming and washing the dishes, so why are they still there??

Why WOULDN'T they be there?! It's nicer now??? It's better for them to stay?!?!?!

"I want to break up with my boyfriend so I did his laundry but he's still texting me :/"

Cleansing =/= banishing and cleansing should be saved for cleaning up after an unwanted spirit after they are banished, which again, is not accomplished by cleansing.

Stop raising wards that trap the spirit inside.

"I cleansed and put up a protection but that only made the problem worse!"

Yes you did a wash up and locked the spirit inside with you, of course it's pissed off. It's trapped.

If you feel the need for immediate protection when dealing with a spirit problem, craft an amulet that serves as a personal protection for you. NOT one that seals off the entrances to your home.

Once the spirit problem is taken care of and you are confident its presence has been removed, feel free to raise up those wards sky high.

Also, if you are heavy-handed with the warding, spirits can sometimes just get trapped inside regardless. Learn how to temporarily "switch off" wards when you need to so things can leave.

Put your fucking foot down and tell the spirit to leave.

This will solve a surprising number of unwanted spirit problems. Not all of them, and come on, please stop telling people they never need to learn actual banishing skills just because telling spirits to leave works most of the time.

But you gotta do it. And I mean you don't have to be an asshole about it. You don't have to jump right into screaming in the spirit's general direction and threatening all such harm on it.

And there's plenty of good reasons to start with this step, especially if you want to be a spirit worker, but that's neither here nor there. Just tell them to leave.

Go to an area where you think the spirit is, or go where its private and speak with the intent that the spirit will hear you.

(You may also sign or write; would generally not recommend doing this operation entirely mentally)

"Hey, Dude. I know you're here, and I want you to know that you must leave. It is no longer an option for you to stay. I request that you leave immediately, and I request that you do not come back to this place. Leave now and we part ways in peace."

Do not go belly up and beg the spirit. It benefits you to behave with authority and dignity.

DO NOT try to "soften the blow" by twisting your words into something that is no longer a demand that the spirit depart. "Hey, if it's okay with you, I'm hoping you'll leave soon, or as soon as you're able... I don't feel comfortable with you here, and I'd prefer if you went." Great, now the spirit knows how you feel. So what?

Banish the spirit (or human, or whatever).

Presumably we're at this step because the prior step ("bro, seriously just leave and never come back") did not work.

Obtain correspondences heavily associated with banishing, use them to enchant a candle, burn the candle.

Can't use a candle? Try a simmer pot.

No fire at all, including incense? Try a floor wash (test carpets to ensure there will not be staining).

Can't burn things or clean the house? Try a sigil you visualize being imprinted on all the walls of your home.

Can't visualize? Consecrate something to represent the spirit, drop it in a jar of water along with banishing correspondences, swirl it around like a whirlpool, chant about the spirit being washed away.

No waterproof containers? Consecrate something to represent the spirit, stand on the edge of your property, throw it off the edge of the property.

You get my drift -- do magic. Do magic. Do magic that banishes. Use magic specifically to banish. Not to cleanse the vibrations or whatever. Specifically magic intended to yeet a spirit.

At this point, do not try to ignore the problem or keep talking it out. Do not just try to meditate or whatever. Do magic. Do magic that banishes.

Here's a banishing spell if you need it:

Basil, cloves, red pepper

Candle (ideally, red)

Paper and ink

Small offering

Draw the planetary seal of mars and the planetary square on a piece of paper, ideally in red. Dress a candle in oil (*burning your house down is an effective way to banish a spirit but perhaps too heavy-handed; dress with care) and include either one or three dried, powdered herbal correspondences to it.

Dedicate the candle to Mars. ("Planet Mars, someone on the internet told me you'd help me if I asked - I'm asking now. I give this candle to you. It belongs to you now.")

Put the candle near the paper.

Evoke Mars. ("Planet Mars, where your symbol exists so you exist. Where your planetary square exists, so do you exist. The space has been made welcoming to you through the presence of these Martian correspondences.") The martian correspondences are the basil/cloves/peppers, btw ("I ask you to bring your attention now to me. I ask you to dwell fully in this space.")

Read the Orphic hymn to Ares if you'd like a little extra elbow grease behind your evocation.

Petition Mars. ("So please get rid of this spirit, it seriously sucks so bad.")

Offer payment. ("In exchange for this help I know you will provide, I give you this candle and also this [small offering].")

Seal the deal. No, you do not need to be able to receive psychic confirmation from a planet or whatever, but do not proceed if you feel any gut-level bad feelings or suddenly get a ton of anxiety. If that happens, be like, "Mars, buddy, never mind - I get a bad feeling about this, so I'm noping out. Thanks for listening while you did. Leave in peace."

But if you feel fine about moving ahead, just be like, "now I give you Mars this offering, and I light your candle, with full and total assuredness that this spirit will be permanently banished from my space, my life, and my home."

[Light the candle, give the offering]

Cleanse

The spirit should be gone before you put up wards

Residual ickyness can make you feel the spirit is still nearby even if its been banished

Cleanse your space and see if the symptoms of the spirit return.

If symptoms return, the spirit has not been banished.

If they don't return,

Put up wards.

Ya got haunted because ya didn't have a fence up to stop random cows from wandering into the garden of your life and trampling all your hard work. Put up the wards.

Oh, but maybe the banishment didn't work, in which case:

Mitigate symptoms.

I mean yeah, maybe try at least a few more types of magical banishing, call in a priest even. But!

Not every spirit can be banished. That's just the long and short of it.

As humans we have the capacity to intertwine our lives, intentionally or otherwise, with forces that cannot be immediately removed from our presence.

Like if the grand spirit of a forest hates all humans and you build a house in the forest, you're not going to be able to banish the forest from the forest, you feel me?

Sometimes, banishing isn't the solution.

As rare as it is, it happens. Make personal protections, use mirror or other illusory wards to hide from its attention, make reparations if possible, avoid attracting attention, and get on with your life.

[katanablue]

Was going through a massive doc I have of prompts and came across one that gave me a brain blast.

Set after Leo leaves to Central America, a year or so when Raph becomes the NW.

Warnings: Angst, hurt, little to no comfort, Raph yelling at you and vice versa, no happy ending

You had an inkling that your boyfriend was the Nightwatcher, you don’t know exactly when or what it was that gave you that unsettling feeling in your stomach but you just knew.

His sleep schedule was all kinds of messed up, more so than usual. He seemed angrier and more on edge, patience seeming to run thin for everyone.

Including you.

Never mind the fact that he always seemed to be sporting a fresh bruise somewhere on his body. It’s not like he can hide them from you either since he only wears protective pads and his mask. He tells you that it’s from patrolling with his brothers or from sparring with Splinter. If that were the case then why didn’t Mikey or Don have the same bruises? Why did Raph seem to divert your attention away from the topic whenever you tried to pry more?

But then again, who are you to not believe him, your boyfriend has never lied to you before so why would he now?

Still, it’s just another piece to the mysterious puzzle, one that seems to be never ending the more you try and put it together.

Deep down you knew. Knew that he was out there alone and putting himself in these dangerous situations without any help. Whenever you saw a story on the news about how ‘The Nightwatcher Struck Again’, you’d immediately turn to look at Raphael to gauge his reaction, hoping that maybe you can pick up any subtle sign on his face.

But he kept himself stoic, expression blank as he listened to the coverage.

You had asked Donnie, Mikey and even Splinter if they’ve noticed anything off with him but all they told you was that he was struggling with Leo’s absence. It’s believable, because that’s what they believe.

Casey didn’t know any better, saying that Raph was just having a hard time adjusting with the lack of crime fighting and order between him and his brothers. Just because Shredder was dead, didn’t mean that crime stopped. In fact it was at an all time high; especially with the Purple Dragons now trying to take over every inch of city they could.

Then the late night appearances started happening.

It wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to show up at your apartment unannounced prior to Leo leaving. Nowadays he only showed up when he was battered and bruised, looking as if he just got out of a dogfight. And at first you didn’t ask, having tended to some of his injuries before. You presumed that he had a scuffle or two with one of his brothers or maybe he and Casey just got a bit too rough with one another.

That’s when you vaguely recalled hearing Mikey talk about how Splinter forbade them from doing any patrols until Leo returned.

You nearly asked him one night right then and there when he showed up on your fire escape at 3 a.m, splattered in bruises and cuts, nearly halfway unconscious. You had hauled him in and laid him on your bed, on the verge of tears as he bled onto your sheets. You begged and begged for him to tell you what happened but he refused, just wanting you to clean him up and go to sleep holding you in his arms.

And you listened of course, not wanting to push and risk having him shut you out completely. But that night replayed constantly in your head and it’s what drove you for your next course of action.

It was driving you crazy not knowing, and it made you plan to deliberately put yourself in danger just to see if he would come and save you.

Luckily for you, you only had to put yourself at risk just once.

It’s over before it even really began, a long chain weapon zipped right in front of you and into the skull of the thug who attempted to rob you at gun point. You gasped and shielded your face, turning away from the man who was cradling his bleeding head and trying to get up off the floor. You heard a loud metallic thud somewhere in the alley, the footsteps getting closer to you.

You looked up right into the eyes of the infamous Nightwatcher.

It felt like time stood still as he looked at you, alarms ringing in Raphael’s head as he tried to figure out why the hell you were out so late at night.

You practically screamed at yourself to look at him entirely, take in his whole form before he left. Your eyes roamed haphazardly over him; from his metal helmet, down his right arm, all the way to his gloves—

“Hold your breath.”

You hardly had anytime to register his words before he snapped something to the ground, a cloud of gray smoke enveloping your vision. You covered your nose and mouth with your hand, shutting your eyes and waving away the smoke. He ran past you to snatch up the goon, not even sparing you another glance as he hurried out the alley. You went after him blindly, seeing the guy tied up to a light pole and just barely catching the Nightwatcher pull off on his all too familiar motorcycle and drive away.

You went back into the alley, searching the ground until you found it; the capsule. You’d seen these before, not many people, let alone any crime fighters use this type.

And you remember exactly who the mutant was that showed them to you.

As soon as you got home you texted Raph that you needed to see him, hardly giving him any time to respond before you called. You were urgent in your message, pleading for him to come over and explaining that you almost got robbed but were saved by the Nightwatcher.

You felt awful because it felt like you were lying to him, luring him into a trap.

In a way you almost were, because you practically had solid evidence that he is the Nightwatcher. It’s like you acquired the last piece of the puzzle and all you had to do was put it into place.

Raphael knew what you were doing and he hated it. Hated that he allowed himself to be so careless, hated that he got himself into this predicament in the first place, hated that he knew that if he didn’t go to you then it would make him seem like the worlds most horrible boyfriend.

There’s a part of him that hopes you haven’t put two and two together, that you were just in dire need of some comfort after a nearly traumatic event. But when he takes that first step on your fire escape and looks into your window, seeing you standing there like a nervous wreck…

He knows you know.

The silence is uncomfortable, like a thick heavy blanket that makes it nearly impossible to breathe. You feel like there’s something wrapped around your lungs the longer Raph goes without saying anything. He can see one of your hands clenched into a fist, your shaking barely visible and he wants nothing more than to close the distance between you two, scoop you into his arms and kiss you breathless to distract you.

Eventually you can’t take the silence anymore, opening your hand and tossing the smoke capsule onto the carpet between you two.

It’s like the blanket doubles in thickness when his eyes land on it.

“Where—“

“Don’t. Do not fucking lie to me, Raphael.” You keep your voice steady, forcing yourself to maintain your composure and to not completely lose it at your boyfriend.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out harshly, fingers flexing against his palms as he looks between you and the empty smoke pellet.

“I can explain.”

“Why don’t you say it first.”

Another deep inhale, followed by his hand coming to run down his face.

“You’re the Nightwatcher.” Your tone gets softer but it doesn’t lessen the impact of your words nor the tears that start to line your eyes.

You hate how Raph is able to keep up his poker face, like you didn’t just reveal his longtime secret of the past year.

He only gives you a simple nod and that seems to finally break the dam.

“Why? Why are you doing this?”

“Can we please talk about this tomorrow?” He asks, straining as he tries to keep calm.

“No,” You say, actually appalled that he would have the audacity to say that. “You need to explain yourself—“

“What the hell is there to explain!” His voice raises in volume, hands going up in the air in exasperation. “I’m protectin’ the city, I’m keepin’ people safe, I’m doin what I’ve always done!”

“But by yourself, Raph? Are you crazy!?” You fight back, holding back your anger and tears as your emotions start to overflow.

“Listen, I’ve been doin’ just fine, okay? I don’t need you breathin’ down my back now that you know.” He rolls his eyes when you scoff, folding his arms over his plastron and shaking his head.

“You don’t want me to be concerned? News flash, Hothead— that’s what loved ones do!” You couldn’t believe this, that he’s somehow turning this around on you when he’s the one who’s been lying about his late night activities for so long.

“Whatever,” He sneers, waving you off with a flick of his hand and turning towards the fire escape.

“Don’t you dare leave. We’re not done talking about this.” You step closer to him, your slipper crunching over the empty capsule as you get closer to him.

“What the fuck else is there to talk about? Hm? Because I’m sure as hell ain’t gonna stop bein’ the Nightwatcher.” He growls over his shoulder, not even giving you the respect of saying it to your face completely,

This isn’t Raph, not really. This isn’t the turtle you’ve come to fall in love with, the one who used to take you for rides around the city on his bike at random intervals of the night or the one who surprised you with a big bouquet of your favorite flowers waiting on your fire escape with a card that said ‘happy birthday, sweetheart’ right at midnight.

Not the same Raph who held you close and kissed your tears away the first time you made love because you were so overwhelmed by everything. He held you close and whispered nothing but praise and adoration for you, waiting until you showed him that beautiful smile before he took you to a pleasurable new height.

The same Raph who definitely had his faults whether it was by accidentally hitting you a bit too hard during training or the one who’d shut you out but immediately open up once he was ready.

You know that Raph is still somewhere in there, hidden within the castle of walls and laying beneath all that anger and hatred he’s built up over time due to Leo being gone.

There’s a brief fleeting moment that passes in your brain that maybe you should’ve been more patient with him, that if you had just waited out a little longer then maybe he would’ve told you instead of you having to confront him like this.

“You know what, no, how bout we talk bout the fact that you put yourself in danger! Just to prove something that you already knew! Are you fuckin’ thick in the head?” Now he whirls around to face you, his brow set so deep that all you want to do is reach up and smooth it out with your fingers.

“It’s not like you would’ve told me if I asked you! You could hardly admit it just now—“

“My business is my fuckin’ business, okay?” He gestures towards himself, tapping at his plastron and glaring down at you. “And you need to learn when to stop stickin’ your nose into shit that ain’t yours!”

He hates how he’s letting his anger consume him, letting it take over and manipulate his body like a puppet. He feels himself start to get out of control and he knows he’s got to get out there before he says something he’ll regret.

“Fine,” You croak out, the quiver in your tone not going unnoticed by him.

But it seems it’s already too late.

“You want me to stop getting in your business?”

Shit shit shit, don’t say it.

Please don’t say it.

“Wish granted. I’m done.”

You turn away so you don’t have to see the way Raphael’s face fall at your words, how his brow immediately smooths out and how his lips part in shock.

“Wha— no, sweetheart. You can’t—“ he reaches out towards you and just faintly grazes your arm. His heart falls to his stomach when you pull away, like his touch burned your skin and you had to get away before it spread like wildfire.

“I will not stand by and watch you throw yourself in danger, night after night, with absolutely no backup. I will not be waiting by my window every night, wondering if you’re going to show up with one foot on deaths door. I respected your privacy but only asked that you be careful and be mindful about what you’re doing.”

Raphael stares hard at you, fingers clenching into fists as he chooses his next few words wisely.

“So that’s it then? It’s over?”

You can tell he’s doing all he can to not break down and beg for your forgiveness. Even the next sentence being on the tip of your tongue has you shedding tears, wiping them away quickly and willing yourself to finish speaking.

“You pushed me away, refused to even give me the grace to tell me what you were doing, instead having me back you up into a corner and practically force it out of you.” You inhale shakily, saying it before you can fully stop yourself.

“It’s over.” You whisper, crying more freely now.

He looks at you crestfallen, shaking his head in disbelief as your words rings over and over in his head. He doesn’t say anything as he turns away from you and back out the window. He looks over his shoulder one last time, hating that his last memory of you is going to be you standing there heartbroken with a tear streaked face.

He wants to scream and shout; at you and himself. He wants to grab you by the shoulders and shake you while he pleads for you to forgive him and that he’ll do better, that he’ll work on his vulnerability more. He tells himself that all you need is space, that with time you’ll take him back and you can go back to the way things were. That you can adjust to him being the Nightwatcher.

“I’m sorry.” He leaves you with that, jumping off the fire escape and disappearing into the bleak night.

You believe him and that thought makes you cry even harder.

[mordredisacoolname]

GRISHAVERSE CHARACTERS WHEN YOU FALL ASLEEP ON THEM

Shadow and bone / six of Crows

MALE READER (can also be read as gn)

Characters: Alina Mal Genya Nikolai Kaz Inej Jesper Nina Wylan Matthias

*Mostly based on the show as I'm only in the middle of Siege and Storm

ALINA- you were both very tired, riding in a carriage led by horses. Alina was starting outside the window when she felt a weight on her shoulder, turning her head she saw you with your eyes closed asleep on her. Smiling to herself she moved a little so you'd be more comfortable and spread a little warmth through you so you won't be cold. She tried staying as still as possible in the carriage to not wake you up.

MAL- you were both drinking some kvas and talking nonsense outside your tent while everyone else were asleep. As he stared into the sky talking about keramzin memories he was interrupted by your head falling on his shoulder. "Do I bore you this much?" He barked out a laugh, watching your sleepy face and moving to a more comfortable position. He decided to let you sleep a little more before waking you up and returning to the tent.

NIKOLAI- you were hanging out in his ship quarters with a few other ship mates, his arm hang around your shoulders when he felt your body leaning towards his own, your hair tickling his neck. He watched you in amusement while Tamar and Pryvet were telling a story about a past adventure, tightening his arm around you.

GENYA- you both were sitting on a sofa in your room at the little palace, genya talking about her day and (rightfully) complaining about the queen, with a tea cup in her hand. When she asked you about your opinion, not hearing an answer she glanced at you finding out you were asleep. She presumed you were just leaning against her as you often did, but to her surprised you were just passed out from the tiring day as a grisha in the little palace. Smiling softly she carefully helped you fully lay down on the sofa, and left you to your rest.

KAZ- you were sitting in his room trying to form the next step leading to the fall of Pekka Rollins when he felt a slight weight on his shoulder. He immediately tensed up frozen in place. He tried calling your name hoping you'd wake up but unfortunately for him you didn't. He wanted to shrag you off, and he would've if you didn't know each other for a very long time. It felt weird, anxious but also a little comforting. He stayed like this still as a statue for a few minutes before slightly tapping you on your arm to wake you up.

INEJ- you were both sitting outside in silence wanting some peace and quiet from the loud tavern when inej felt your head slip down to her shoulder. She smiled softly, studying your face; feeling the urge to let you stay like this forever. Unfortunately it was getting late and unsafe outside, so she had to wake you up, but she really enjoyed those few minutes of you together.

JESPER- you were sitting at a table in the barrel watching people drink, talk and play, when you felt the tiredness creeping up on you "don't you dare fall asleep and leave me alone in this boredome" said Jesper while holding some sort of drink on his hand. "I'm not asleep" you perked up at the accusation, taking a sip of your own drink you left on the table. As the time passed on, you stopped answering Jesper's questions and observations. "Not asleep my ass" he snored, finishing the rest of his drink and helping sleepy you stand up and go to your room.

NINA- you were sitting on soft cushions near a window watching the snow. You rented a small room and decided to lit a fire and warm up a bit. You were both quiet, enjoying the outside view and the inside warmth, wrapped together in furrs. You slowly fell asleep, head tilted back when Nina noticed you're not awake, laughing quietly she guided your head on her shoulder, tightening the furr around you two.

WYLAN- wylan was mixing some stuff together when you called him to take a break and join you on the sofa, petting the empty space besides you. After a few protests he finally agreed and sat down next to you, your arm wrapping around him. Drawing him closer you kisses his head, nuzzling your nose to his wild hair, feeling sleepy. He was telling you about what he was making when you slowly started shifting away to sleep. When he noticed he smiled trying not to move his head too much as your head was on his. He was just sitting there squished between you and the sofa, and eventually fell asleep too.

MATTHIAS- he was sitting all grumpy away from the rest of the crows when you approached him. "Mind if I join you" you asked not waiting for his answer and sat down besides him. "Why do you ask if you're going to do that anyway" he scowled. You shrugging your shoulders leaning against him and observing everything that was going on in front of you. Announcing you were tired, you tilted your head to rest on his shoulder, instantly falling asleep. Looking at you Matthias sighed annoyingly, but let you stay mumbling something in Fjerdan.

[true-blue-sonic]

Espilver Week day 1: Invisible

"The Wisps are truly remarkable creatures, are they not?” the chameleon muses one warm afternoon.

With a smile Silver nods at Espio’s question, studying their strange companions fluttering and cooing around in the distance. The two of them had been exploring around following a tip Sonic had provided them with, and Silver has to admit: the Lost Hex is nothing to sneeze at. Windy Hill could not be better to just wander through with his beloved at his side, his quills fluttering and Espio humming contently at the breeze. But the fact Wisps had come rushing right over with coos galore means that the place isn’t as alone and deserted for lovebirds to spend their dates at as Sonic had proclaimed, even if Silver doesn’t mind it. There’s worse companions to have than a bunch of curious aliens.

“They always look so funny. And they’re so nice to us too,” the hedgehog answers, giving the Red Wisp that had snuggled itself into his hands and refused to remove itself from the decadent affection elicited on it since yet another caress over its head. Espio has found himself a similar object of the Wisps’ interest, with how a Magenta one is doing its very best to stay balanced on top of his crest where many of its siblings have fallen off already. The antics make Silver laugh, which makes the Wisps laugh and Espio too, and that is the sweetest reward of all.

The Red Wisp’s tentacles twitch and curl like the flame of a fire, Silver studying it curiously. “I wonder where they get their special powers from. What creates Hyper-go-on,” he brings up. It's question he’s wondered before, but during wars and racing events there’s not much time to ponder those things over. The Wisps seem to know, though; or at least, they respond with a whole bunch of chatters that Silver can’t follow in the slightest. “Sorry, we don’t have any communicators,” he apologises.

“We’ll have to make do the old-fashioned way. Guess-work. Let us see… It is either something very special or very mundane,” Espio nods from where he grabs and scrutinises the Magenta Wisp so closely Silver can only presume his look of seriousness is tremendously exaggerated, though it wavers at the response of cries the hedgehog swears are disappointed. At least that means he kind of has an idea what’s going on!

Wriggling a finger onto the body of the Red Wisp and grinning at the giggling squeal it elicits Silver hums. “I guess it doesn’t matter so much. But it’s nice the Wisps have managed to make their home here. It’s a great place to live,” he muses, more to himself than to Espio; but Windy Hill is gorgeous and just ambling through it with Espio as the sun shines on his face and the trees sway in the breeze gives plenty of room for happy thoughts. No wonder the Wisps so delightfully chase each other around and draw Silver and Espio’s attention towards flowers and critters scampering around without a care in the world. And even Espio looks carefree, the other drawing a deep breath of the fresh air with a smile on his face.

“Indeed. I can imagine it gives them plenty of space to use those powers of theirs.”

“Certainly,” Silver agrees, a Blue Wisp squeaking loudly and immediately transforming in a cube the moment he and Espio look over. “Very impressive,” the hedgehog encourages their new friends. “What’s your favourite power, Espio?”

“Psychokinesis,” the dry retort comes… as does many an adorably angry leer from the Wisps cluttering around them. “Okay, okay,” the chameleon relents with a chuckle. “I like… Crimson Eagle best.”

Silver’s lips twitch up in a grin. “Because it allows you to fly?”

“Shush, you,” Espio chastises him fondly as Silver very elaborately takes to floating in the air. The hedgehog can see some reasons why his beloved would like the ability to fly best… “Which one do you enjoy?” the other adds, Silver’s ears shooting right up.

“Jade Ghost!”

“…Because it allows you to turn invisible?”

“No, because it allows me to focus on my missions without everyone constantly getting in my way-” Silver falls right into explaining… before blinking. “Oh. Because I’m invisible and they can’t see me.”

That elicits a snort from Espio’s side and a delighted coo from a Jade Wisp in the distance. "But I'm not playing favourites," Silver assures the Red Wisp he's holding still, that's quite promptly taken to pouting- and shrieking, as its Jade companion comes rushing right over and bonks it right out of Silver's arms.

The hedgehog gasps by instinct, as his hold promptly houses a completely different Wisp that expectantly chirps at him and tugs at his fingers. Beside him Espio laughs, as does the Magenta Wisp smugly sprawled out in Espio's grasp with an air that it would not be removed so easily. “Eager, aren’t you?” the chameleon smiles at the Jade Wisp, that coos in approval with its little mouth forming a grin. Its red companion has taken the change less well: mad squeaks and growls fill the air around Silver and Espio, three eyes narrowed angrily and a tendril shaken as if it’s a fist. Adorable, Silver stops himself from cooing out loud. Espio clearly thinks the same, a fond golden gaze meeting Silver’s. “Both of you, pipe down," the chameleon soothes. "You’re reminding me quite a bit of a certain someone when you act like this, heh.”

“That’s not true! I also like Jade Ghost because it means I don’t need to constantly attack people which costs way too much time," Silver huffs back, Espio laughing most teasingly from where he gets shoved by psychokinesis. Incorrigible, that beloved of his, the hedgehog decreed with a shake of his head; even if hearing Espio laugh like that always makes him flutter on the inside. "But I guess you are not bothered much by that, are you, little one? You did just push your friend right away to get some attention. I would never do such a thing myself," he adds to the Jade Wisp he's holding, Espio taking the angrily-jabbering Red Wisp to soothe and cuddle instead while the hedgehog shoots a teasing little grin to his own charge. It promptly makes a similar peeved noise as its friend, Silver muffling a laugh as it bonks its head against his stomach…

And a zap of energy going through him makes the fur on his spine rise, though as Silver looks down at the Wisp he can look quite a bit through himself, too.

“Huh,” Espio remarks over the giggles and squeals from their various companions. “Your friend there didn’t like to hear that, tenshi.”

With a curious hum Silver sticks out his hand: he’s very much still here, but also very much translucent, a green aura radiating from his body and the Wisp flying right out of his grasp through his arm with plenty of cheeky coos. “Jade Ghost,” the hedgehog easily determines. Not as complete as he’s used to, but pushing a hand through his stomach is easy as can be.

“That’s creepy,” Espio’s teasing judgement comes.

Laughing at the Jade Wisp fluttering around his head with scolding chirps Silver shakes out his glowing quills. “Aw, come on. Can’t handle a bit of see-through-ness?” 

“Excuse me? I am the expert at see-through-ness,” the chameleon retorts; and quite suddenly it looks as if the Red Wisp is floating into nothingness, the creature squeaking in alarm as Espio disappears with a gale and some leaves fluttering around him. “I am still here, my friend. You would not be held up if I was not,” the ninja’s disembodied voice assures it, Silver’s ears twitching in amusement. Yes, Espio does not become intangible when invisible…

“That’s true! He’s right here,” he smirks, and Espio’s noise of warning does not deter him from pushing his translucent hand right into where the other’s body must be.

A full yell and a startle follow, Espio’s purple colours rushing right back from where he jumps away. “Silver!” the chameleon huffs at him. “That’s cold!”

“Heh. Sorry,” Silver retorts, not at all apologetic.

“Incorrigible,” he gets scolded... though Espio’s attempt to grab twitching grey ears and give them a tug promptly finds itself foiled as his hand goes through Silver’s head instead. It leaves the two of them laughing, as does the Jade Wisp prodding away at Silver’s body. “Alas, I have been defeated by the power of the Wisps. I guess I’ll just have to get used to my beloved always being half there,” the chameleon bemoans playfully. “I would give you a kiss… but it cannot be achieved. You are intangible.”

:"...Oh. Heck." With his quills shooting right up in horror Silver blinks, staring at himself and his see-through body: that is quite a good point, actually. But not one that is irreversible! After all, Wisp powers always run out right when he doesn't want them to; surely this half-formed Jade Ghost has only been kept active because its responsible Wisp has been battering at Silver relentlessly this whole time. “Hey,” he pipes up to their Jade companion, who has crossed two of its tentacles to pout at him. “Sorry for painting you as a Wisp-bonking menace. It was a compliment.”

Jabbering something back the Jade Wisp rubs its little face, or at least Silver figures; but with a final bonk and mad cackles it flies off, the hedgehog chuckling as well. Before he knows it the usual grey of his pelt as returned, his hand pushing into his stomach instead of through. “Well! Now you can kiss me,” he grins at Espio, eager as can be-

Before squealing in disdain as the other shoots over and tugs at his ears after all.

“There. My revenge has been had,” the chameleon smirks, Silver wriggling in his grasp and laughing at the flailing of the Red Wisp finding itself rather stuck between their two bodies. Eventually it breaks free with similar peeved jabbers, though Silver is a bit too preoccupied to really pay attention to that: Espio's hands run over his back and his quills, their faces so tantalisingly close a kiss is mere seconds away after all.

Huffing a breath into Espio neck first, just to make a statement, Silver snuggles even closer. “Rude,” his protest comes; but so does his coveted kiss, his arms wrapping around Espio’s body and purrs rumbling in his chest from where he gets petted so lavishly.

That is, until he gets rammed in the back by a madly-cackling Wisp and the zap of energy makes him stumble; through Espio, who altogether shrieks at the sensation, and after that they spend a lot of the afternoon chasing after their mischievous Jade friend and trading pecks once Silver has become tangible again.

Next time they’re getting a Crimson Wisp to play with because at least those don’t make Espio become translucent, Silver determines, but for now he’s perfectly happy to snuggle with his beloved into the grass from Windy Hills, content as can be.

@espilver-week 🍀

[terresdebrume]

I was thinking about trans!Charles these past couple days, and I already have trans!Niko in the Down on My Knees series and they sort of combined with a Halloween snippet I started that is now too big to be called a snippet (and not yet done) to form this. Is it good? No idea. Will I do anything more with it? I mean, I might clean it up for AO3 at some point. Anyway. Enjoy trans Charles & trans Niko looking at old photos and reminiscing ig

Niko's gasp rings through the apartment, making Edwin jump and Charles' head turn towards the bedroom.

"What?" Crystal exclaims from the other side of the living room, "What is it? Are you okay?"

"Charles!" Niko exclaims, running back to the living, "Charles, look what I found!"

Niko brandishes a dusty, battered cardboard box in her hand: it is white, striped red, yellow and green, and stained with age and what might be a spot of mold. The mere thought of getting near it is enough to wrinkle Edwin's nose, and a look at Crystal confirms that she feels the same. Charles, however, takes one looks at the box and jumps to his feet with an excited smile. Edwin watches him run up to Niko and make a grab for the box, stopping just short of actually taking it out of Niko's hands as they fall into step towards the sofa.

"It's our old friendship box!" Charles explains as Edwin and Crystal join their respective partners to look down at the box.

"It looks like a health hazard," Edwin says when Charles holds it out towards him, hands pulling back towards his chest before he can even think about it. "Please do not make me touch it."

"Honestly this is nothing," Niko says in her usual monotone, "you should have seen the state of his backpack when he moved in with me."

"Oi!" Charles protests, one hand on the lid of the box, "don't diss the backpack! It had my life in it!"

Niko smiles and catches Charles into a tight hug, and Edwin can't help sharing a rueful smile with Crystal. Charles and Niko have been friends since they were in upper secondary, but they do not often reference that time, presumably because of the painful experiences Charles hinted at. The box, whatever it may contain, is sure to bring back bittersweet memories at best, and Edwin can't help but to brace against that even as Charles and Niko exhibit nothing but enthusiasm.

"Open it!" Niko is telling Charles when Edwin turns back to them, "I want to show them the picture!"

Charles laughs and rolls his eyes, playfully shoving his shoulder into Niko's as he pulls the box open. The smell of hairspray assaults Edwin's nose immediately, and it takes a bit of sneezing before he can look down into the box. Once he does, he's surprised to find a perfectly preserved strand of sword lily, along with a pair of cherry blossom cufflinks.

"These are from our winter formal!" Niko exclaims, voice cracking as she does. "My corsage still looks so good!"

"You kept the pictures, right?" Charles asks, smiling down at the cufflinks before turning to Thomas, who walked up to the back of the sofa without Edwin hearing. "I paid thirty quids for the set, I don't want them to end up in the bin!"

"I keep forgetting you went to a bougie school," Thomas replies. "You sure don't fucking sound like it."

"It's because they all hated him," Niko says with her usual frankness. "He actually worked back on his accent, afterwards."

"Posh is only sexy on Edwin," Charles says, scooping the cufflinks and the flower out of the box.

Edwin, his cheeks warm, leans against Charles' shoulders to peer further into the box, and finds himself looking down at a picture he would never have expected to see. To the left, a tall, black-haired boy stands straight in a deep red Punjabi suit with gold ornaments. His smile is bright, his cheeks adorned with a touch of color, his ears decorated with stick-on earrings. The is no scarf on his head, and his hair is too short to arrange in anything more elaborate than a bob, but he slipped another fire lily behind his ear and it makes him look a little like his hair is on fire.

"That was Charles' art and design project," Niko reminisces, pointing at the suit. "You started it the summer before, right?"

"Yeah," Charles agrees with a chuckle. "I had to hide it behind my wardrobe--my dad would have gone mental if he'd figured I was spending that much time and money on a fashion project."

The proclamation, unfortunately enough, sounds very much like what Edwin is starting to expect from Charles' father. He is struck, once more, with a visceral, violent sort of hatred for the man, and a deep relief that he will likely never have to meet him. The top--the kameez, as Charles names it--fit Niko beautifully, the embroidery on the sides enough to give the impression of a narrow waist. The golden thread seems solid, the wide pants, or salwar, falling elegantly around her long legs and gathering at her ankles with a lovely fold.

But while the rest of the group admires and praises Charles' work on the outfit, Edwin can't help but let his gaze glide to the second person on the left of the picture. Shorter than Niko only because she is not wearing heels, the girl is sporting a visible scrape on her cheek and a heavily lined smolder. Her cheeks are rounder, her long, tight curls gathered back into a high ponytail. She is standing straight in a deep black kimono, the outer vest that Edwin doesn't know the name of matching the color of Niko's kameez. Even then, despite the make up and the golden nose ring and chain Charles must have had to fight for, there is an undeniable sort of masculinity to the way he looks.

"We had to practice our poses," Charles whispers in Edwin's ear, as if he somehow felt where Edwin's thoughts were going. "Niko kept doing the 'ceps move."

Edwin, very familiar with Charles' propensity for tucking his hands under his upper arms in order to make his muscles more prominent, cannot help but chuckle at the image. Niko is, by far, the most delicate person he's ever been friend with, and it is hard to picture her trying to be one of the blokes.

"I knew all the bro moves!" Niko confirms happily, and demonstrates by leaning her head onto her half-closed fist and smoldering at Edwin.

She doesn't quite look uncomfortable with it so much as cheeky, like a child pantomiming an adult's attitude, as opposed to the effortless way Charles does it. Niko is playing at masculinity, but Charles genuinely enjoys it. When he adopts Niko's earlier smolder, Edwin's stomach swoops down with delicious warmth.

"I had like, zero idea how to move in a girly way," Charles snorts in response to Niko. "We had to google it and practice in the town park on the weekends."

"You would have made a really good butch lesbian," Niko says sagely, and Charles grins.

"Mate, I'd have been aces as a butch lesbian!"

"Honestly, I can see that," Crystal says from the other end of the couch. "You'd have been a complete frat bro."

"Hey, now," Charles protests, but Thomas smirks and cuts him off:

"I bet you'd have been all about muscle cars and all," he says, to which Charles looks genuinely offended.

"Oi! If there's any car nerds in this room it bloody well isn't me!"

"I keep telling you, Charles," Edwin replies without losing his calm, "there is true beauty in a well-designed vehicle."

"Look what you did!" Charles protests, turning to Thomas even as he loops an arm around Edwin's waist and hugs him to his chest. "Now he's going on about cars! How do I get my beautiful poetry nerd back?"

"Read poems about cars!" Niko suggests, apparently in earnest.

That makes Crystal and Thomas laugh, and they start improvising truly horrendous rhymes about cars, motors, and a horsepower. Charles snorts at them, but it soon turns into a blush when Edwin leans into him and whispers close to his ears:

"You and I both know you make a much better muse for the poet in me than any car ever will."